by Skye, Mav
Sir Sun shook his head. “That’s… That’s—” He was at a loss for words.
“Wicked?” Velva smiled at the memory. “My mother doused his mansion in gasoline. Blew it to the sky. His wife and children were inside.”
Sir Sun now turned toward Velva. “Were they rescued?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid they didn’t make it.” She turned her body towards his. “Don’t you see? I had to up the game. While she was setting his house on fire, I tied Juan up, hurt him pretty good.”
Sir Sun closed his eyes. “You didn’t—”
“I snipped the cherries but left the banana.” She gave him a knowing look.
“God,” said Sir Sun.
“No, not God. Me. I did it.” She pointed at herself. “It shook mother up, losing her two favorite pets to me. And then it happened. She just kinda lost it.
“When Juan got out of the hospital, he drove straight to his brother’s grave, since he’d missed the funeral. My mother followed him, and she shot him. She shot him dead over his own twin brother’s headstone.”
“That night, she found me, asked me to wash the blood out of her hair, which I did. As I drew her bath, she told me that she’d made a mistake all those years, letting those men use her. And that she had known that they were using me, too. It was the one night when I felt we had a real mother/daughter connection. That was when she dared me.” She squeezed his hand.
Sir Sun mulled over her story, paused his thoughts to ask, “Dared you to do what?”
“Help her kill the men that had used us. At first, she dared me to kill just one and that she’d do the rest. I wasn’t sure I could, but she said if I had the guts to steal the berries off a man, then I had what it took to steal his life. Mother said, ‘Be dangerous, darling, for the whole world rises and falls at your feet.’ The truest words she ever spoke to me. In fact, it’s my motto.”
Sir Sun said, “Hmm... I can see why.”
“The next week, she’d visited me late at night. Her clothes were covered in puke.
“She’d alphabetized all the john’s in her address book and started with the letter A. She’d poisoned Alf with rat poison.
“He’d puked all over her after she’d mixed the poison in his wine, but it still killed him alright. The ambulance arrived to find Alf dead as a doormat. After I had cleaned mother up, she told me it was my turn. I got the letter B. Barry’s name was on that list.”
“Did you?” He wished he hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to hear.
“Oh yes. Barry got with it the very same axe sitting in the tree over yonder—Tall Man’s axe.”
“My God, Velva.” Sir Sun unclasped his hands from hers, and stood, walking a few steps away. The crow cawed again. He felt sick. Gunk rose up his esophagus, threatening to purge itself like when he’d seen the dead kitty. But, he managed to swallow it back down and breathed deeply of the night air.
She said, “And then it escalated. Why stop at just one?”
“What about the police? You can’t just kill a bunch of people without—”
“It was a private society these gentlemen belonged to; they didn’t want the police involved. And the ones that did get involved were small town cops, easily paid off.
“I was careful. I learned how to pull the puppets strings without anyone ever seeing my face, but, state bureau detectives did catch on to our trail. By that time, though, mother was long gone. I left her address book at a murder scene, and all the deaths were blamed on her. I traveled the world after that. I made sure they could never find me. Thanks to daddy, I had all the money I needed to cover my tracks.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore, Velva.” Sir Sun walked away from the grave.
She frowned, saddened. “But, it’s about you, Sir Sun.”
“What do you mean?”
Velva stood and walked to him. “I put an end to it—to her.” She pointed at the grave. “I’ve made investments with the money. But…the violence? It sat in my heart like an open wound for many years, but in the end there was only one way to bandage the ache.” She made a slicing motion across her neck.
Sir Sun felt the bile rise up his throat again.
She said, “So, I started again, but, I was careful. Never got caught.”
He nodded and smiled nervously. “So, what, I am your man pet now? Are you planning on putting an axe in my head?”
A smile broke onto her face. “No, no. The thing is, I’m lonely, Timothy. I’ve been so lonely. The violence, the sex… the money. It’s never been enough. Never. But, when I saw you—”
“Saw me?”
“Yes, my financial advisor is here in town. One day, just as I was parking off the street, I saw you through the window in Sara’s Diner. I stopped, transfixed as you drank your coffee, ate your pie. I watched your slow, thoughtful movements, the expressions crossing over your face and I knew—I knew that very moment I first saw you that we were meant to be together.”
Velva’s eyes were wide, dark and lovely. Her face as sincere and sinister as the moon was full. “I saw the loneliness in your eyes too, Timothy. And you’re so devilishly handsome.” She put a hand on his jaw. “And when I received your response to my personal ad in the paper, all those lovely pressed violets.” She sighed and pressed a hand to her heart.
He recalled her words that had started it all. Wanted: Single Rose. “How did you know I had sent it? It could have been anyone from Spindler.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The fact is, Timothy, I knew you could grow to be the man I’ve always wanted. And you’ve been remarkable, Darling.” She stroked his chin, his chest. “I wanted you. Needed you. I tried other means of satisfying myself, but you were the one for me, the only thing that could bandage the ache other than—” She made a slicing motion across her throat again.
He said, “Could you please stop doing that?”
She ignored him and continued. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind, that look in your eye.”
“Look?”
“Deep down, inside.” She pat his chest above his heart. “You have a will for violence, Timothy. We are the same, you and I.”
He felt his heart freeze below her fingertips. It even stopped beating for a second, and then he said weakly, “I am not a violent man.”
She gazed into his eyes, full of love and adoration. Her lips parted, and she whispered, “I know what you did to Miss O’Hara.”
He threw her hand away, turned his back, and trotted down the path away from the dome and Velva’s mother’s grave. He aimed for where he thought Daniel was.
Velva chased after him. “It’s stronger in me than you. That’s true. But the last two days, Timothy, we’ve cultivated the violence. Together. It’s a hunger in you now and it won’t go away.”
He turned and yelled at her, “I don’t know what you are talking about!”
“We can do this together, Timothy. You aren’t alone anymore.”
He kept moving. “I can’t and I won’t do anything to promote this violence, Velva.”
“But you already have!” She grabbed his arm and swirled him around. “There are dead bodies in that apartment complex and you were seen on three of the four floors tonight. Who do you think is going to be blamed for those murders?”
A sort of light bulb went off in Sir Sun’s head. “You did it. You did it all.” He stood looking at her in amazement.
“It was for you, Timothy.” She couldn’t help but smile.
“How did you…?” he trailed off.
“I own the complex.”
Surprised, Sir Sun simply spun on his heels away from Velva and stomped down the garden path, towards the river. She’d set him up. She’d used him.
Velva said, “I thought you’d be happy. I thought you’d understand. Sir Sun, where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“You can’t leave me, Timothy.” She lurched at his arm and tried to turn him around again. He broke away from her grasp. “This has all b
een for you. Why can’t you see that?”
She was wearing heels. He wasn’t. And soon, he was racing down the path, away from the Tim Burton tree and the pumpkin patch where Tall Man still watched him.
Finally, he approached Daniel, who was still hard at work filling the grave.
Daniel glanced up at him and nodded a hello. He was mumbling something; words dribbled from his lips in a slur.
Sir Sun said, “Daniel, we need to go.”
Daniel kept shoveling. “Nope. Xena asked me to do this. And I ain’t going nowhere ‘til the job is done.” He went back to singing or chanting or whatever. Sir Sun made out a few words. “The crow caws at midnight. Tall man nods his head.”
The poem whispered by a mad man sent shivers down Sir Sun’s spine. He wondered if Daniel had already known the poem or if Velva had taught him. “She’s not Xena, Daniel. Velva tricked you. Just like she’s tricked me.”
Daniel finished,
“Beware of the axe, sitting in his head.”
He paused and glared up at Sir Sun. “She is birthed of Shelly, descendant from the ninth world order. Tenth planet of the system of discord by the order of Eris.”
Sir Sun rolled his eyes and thought he heard footsteps coming from the path. He looked behind him, surprised not to see Velva. “No, she’s not.”
Daniel shook his head in pity at Sir Sun, like one would do at a lame, orphan puppy trotting down the side of the road. “Those born of the stars can’t lie.”
He kept shoveling.
Sir Sun said, “The only creatures without the capacity to lie are the ones already buried.” Miss O’Hara’s death flesh came to mind. Her accusation. But he let the thought go and focused on getting Daniel and himself out of there. “Daniel, how could she be birthed of Shelly, a young woman herself?” He pointed at the words on his shirt—Shelly’s shirt— to emphasize the point. Girls Just Wanna Have Funyuns.
A crow cawed. And Sir Sun gazed back toward the path he’d come stumbling across. Velva wasn’t there. A crow cawed again, again. The Second part of the poem leaped to mind.
The crow caws at midnight
Beware Tall Man—Dread!
For if he catches you
He’ll swing the axe
Until you’re dead.
“We need to go, Daniel. Come on.”
“Hmm… birthed of Shelly. But, yes, you’re right. Shelly was the same age-ish, so…” Daniel stopped and stomped the shovel into the ground. He lifted his Route 66 hat from his grunge hair and scratched his head. He squinted his green eyes, thinking. “You know? That’s a good point.”
“Daniel, come with me!” Sir Sun grabbed Daniel’s sleeve and tugged him toward the gate.
And it was then, that precise second, that Sir Sun saw a gleam of moonlight glint off the edge of something sharp. Very Sharp.
In his peripheral vision, a lean figure moved out of the shadows, holding an object overhead. It was the axe—the one from the Tim Burton tree.
Velva swung at Daniel’s head.
There wasn’t time to move or for her to miss.
Daniel never saw it coming, his face still scrunched in thought—dwelling on the possibility that Xena maybe, possibly, could have lied about her origins. The blunt force of the axe cracked down on top of his skull. Daniel’s skull splintered on impact, a tiny crack zig-zagged down the skin of his forehead between his stunned, crystal green eyes. There was a pause, a breath—perhaps a gasp—and then Mount St. Helen’s exploded. Blood spurted from his eyes and mouth. Velva heaved the axe out of his head, and Daniel flopped forward into the half-filled grave. In the dirt, his legs and arms spasmed like a puppet on strings.
“Geezus!” Time froze as Sir Sun watched Daniel’s limbs jig their last dance.
“I actually liked that guy.” Her voice seemed to come from far away, an echo drawing nearer, and nearer.
Sir Sun became aware of frogs croaking from the pond. A waft of lavender overpowered the stench of fresh blood. The stir of breeze enabled him to breathe again. And slowly, he lifted his eyes to the gorgeous, psycho woman holding the axe. “Velvet Jones,” he whispered. “What have you done?”
“I had to do it. Because I need you to see.” She pointed at Daniel, covered in globs of blood, his face still wrought in a deep thought. “We can do this. But not alone, together, Darling.”
“Banana Shamarana,” said Sir Sun, quieter this time. It was what his Uncle used to say when he realized he’d gotten himself in over his head. Sir Sun hadn’t thought of it in over thirty years, but today, it fit the bill. He felt blood pulse in his veins. His heart beat hard within his chest. Overpowering emotion welled up in his gut—fear. His body was responding to fear.
Velva blinked. “Come again?”
And with those very words—somehow, now, right that second, Sir Sun’s feet unfroze. His legs moved, his arms pumped, and he began to run, not unlike he had on that fateful day when he’d murdered (yes, murdered) Miss O’Hara in her backyard.
“Where are you going!” shouted Velva.
She chased him as he raced to the gate where he and Daniel had entered. Spurred by adrenaline, he turbo-kicked the lock—once, twice. On the third kick, the lock gave way. Sir Sun dashed across the river rocks, around the cottonwoods and blackberries until he almost ran straight into the river. The canoe still rested on the shore.
Velva cried after him, her voice trembling. “Don’t leave, Timothy, please! Don’t make me do this alone.”
He shoved the canoe into the water, his thumb jamming between a sharp rock and aluminum. The boat swung into the river, and he leaped in. At first, Sir Sun rowed the oars up river towards the apartments, but the current was too strong. So, he let it take him downstream. And as it did, Velva appeared from the brush. Her long hair, wild and tangled, whipped in the wind about her face. She held the bloody axe against her shoulder, and reached into the air toward him, as if she could pluck him up from the water and bring him back. The moonlight caressed the tears trailing down her cheeks.
“I need you, Timothy. You need me. And you know it!” Her weeping carried as the river swept him out of sight, into the deep, quiet of the dark.
His heart ached. He now knew Velva for what she was. Daniel’s cracked forehead came to mind. He knew. And as the river drifted him further and further from her, he couldn’t help but feel himself plunge back into the miserable and lonely world where he was a broken root of dirt and earth.
The river spindled him this way and that, far away from the crazy woman with the axe, the woman made of sky and stars. The woman he was hopelessly in love with.
22
Doomed to Death’s Folly
Velva spun on her heel back toward the gate, and as she did, her stiletto twisted down into the river rocks, and snapped off.
“Damn, damn, damn!” She dropped the axe, wrested off the broken shoe and threw it into the river. Then she took off her other shoe and threw it, too. “And thank you. Thank you very damn much for not only taking my man but ruining my shoes!”
She wiped the tears running down the curve of her cheekbone. The tears weren’t for the dumb shoes—although she did like them, very much. They were her favorite, in fact—black lambskin and gator stilettos with a Victorian point. Velva had chosen them for this very special night. That wasn’t why the tears flowed. They flowed because she knew. Knew in her heart of hearts that she and Timothy were meant for each other. Instead of holding in the aches of their hearts, they could both let it out together. She had seen hidden in Sir Sun what she had kept hidden in herself. Well, more or less hidden.
It was her mother’s fault. She was messing up the game. It was always her mother’s fault.
Velva turned away from the river, wiped another tear, and stomped her barefoot down in a tantrum. She let out a surprised, “Ow!”
Agony pulsed through her arch and straight up to her spine. Velva knew what she had stepped on before she even looked. “God! Could this night get any worse!”
She lifte
d her foot off the axe head. It was lying edge up. She adjusted her dress, plunked down on the river rocks, and examined her foot. The gap was wide, but shallow. It bled like a motherfucker. Going to the hospital for stitches was out of the question, but she thought there were butterfly bandages in Daniel’s duffel bag.
“Shit.” She crawled towards the cold river water. Tiny thorns and rocks ripping open her hose and giving her bloody knees. At the river’s edge, she sat and sank her feet and calves into the rushing stream. She scooted in until the water covered her thighs. She sighed, letting the sweet numbing sensation cleanse her, clear her thoughts.
Velva wrapped her arms about herself, rocking in rhythm to Spindler’s River’s song. She supposed all was not lost. Her plan included a bit of shell shock from his side. And Miss O’Hara? She’d had Daisy do some investigative work for her. Who would had known the old lady would be such a gem; she’d had been a private investigator back in the day. Velva shook her head and sighed. It was sad they had had to club her to death with Mr. fiddler’s horrid leg.
But it was part of the game. And everyone was a part of the game. You either won or fell out of it—dead.
Would Sir Sun see that? She hoped so. She hoped with all her heart. Because, she decided, staring down the river, hoping to see the canoe magically reappear, Velva didn’t want to be a part of the game anymore—not if Sir Sun wouldn’t oblige.
There was only one way out. She glanced at the axe.
She drew her wounded foot out of the water and looked at it. The cut was smooth. It would be easy to bandage.
Velva suddenly felt optimistic. She could get out of the game if she had to, but she knew, deep down, Sir Sun would be King to her Queen, and they’d rule the board (the world!) together. She had to make him see.
And with what she had planned next, he’d surely come around.
Velva found a strong, sturdy stick lying next to her. She used it to push herself up, and then limped over the rocks to where she had dropped the axe. She carefully leaned over and scooped it up.
