Clouds In My Coffee

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Marshall, you don’t want to do this. Erik’s expecting me at the club.”

  “Shut up!”

  I feel tears brimming, but I don’t want the son of a bitch to know how scared I am. It’s about power with him, I realize that much.

  “Can I just ask you why we’re going there? Can’t we just stop the car and talk?”

  “I think better when I’m there,” he replies. “It’s my special place. It will all be mine someday. It’s got a lot of memories for me. I keep my special memories there,” he says distractedly. “Maybe you and I will make a memory there. Who knows?”

  A feeling of dread envelops me. I can’t focus at the moment.

  “You alright?” he asks.

  I shake my head, “No.”

  “You will be. I promise.”

  Chapter 24

  Time is standing still. I feel like I’m having some sort of out of body experience; that I’m watching myself from somewhere else. I follow Marshall’s directions and, an hour later, I’m pulling up the steep, windy tree-lined drive to a secluded log home.

  It’s fairly large, with a wrap-around porch and situated far back from the two lane road outside of Ogden, Utah. Ordinarily, I would love being in such a beautiful, scenic place. But not now, and especially not with him.

  My mind thinks back to what Erik told me about Angie being here. I’m pretty sure he has the same thing in mind for me.

  He pulls me from the car and grips my forearm tightly, leading me up the wooden steps to the front porch. A light has been left on inside. He unlocks the door with one hand and pushes me inside with the other.

  “Sit,” he orders, flicking on a few more lamps. “How about a nice cozy fire while we chat?”

  “Marshall,” I start, “I’m not understanding any of this.”

  “You will.”

  I watch as he places some logs into the fireplace and then lights a match, tossing it in, the flames shooting up brightly. He turns and, for the first time, I can clearly see his face.

  His cheeks are thin and pale; his eyes look sunken and the dark circles underneath are haunting. “Marshall, what’s happened to you?” I ask.

  He ignores my question, pulling a small plastic bag out of the pocket of his jeans. “Wanna do some chocolate mescaline?” he offers, holding the bag out to me.

  I shake my head ‘no.’

  “No? Well, I hope you don’t mind if I drop a tab of it. Makes me see things more clearly.”

  “It’s acid,” I reply. “Is that the reason you look like…”

  “Like what?” he asks sharply.

  “Skinny and pale.”

  “Is that how I look to you, Angie?”

  I watch as he eats two tabs of the acid. “I’m not Angie.”

  “Yeah? You might as well be. She didn’t like doing the chocolate mesc either. Downers were her deal. But, hey, I’ve got some of those here for you. She left some here the last time she…visited.”

  I watch as he goes to the kitchen, and for a split second I consider taking off on foot, but he’s right back with a glass of water and a pill bottle. I take the glass of water from him, but not the pills.

  “Take them,” he orders. “You’re going to need them.”

  “No,” I reply firmly. “I don’t want them.”

  I take a sip of the water, setting the glass down on the table next to me. I’m totally caught off guard when his open palm makes brutal contact with my cheek. “I said swallow these fucking pills, bitch!”

  I don’t move. I’m as still as a statue sitting on that sofa. He pulls my hat off and grabs my hair with his fist, forcing my head back. As I scream, he drops two of the pills down my throat. I gag, but they’re already lodged halfway down. “Drink,” he orders, handing me the glass of water.

  I take it from him and swallow gulps of water, choking and sputtering.

  “Good girl,” he says. “Things will go much better for you if you just do as I say.”

  I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My hackles are raised. There’s imminent danger! Every human instinct that has survived in man over the centuries is on high alert. My eyes dart around the room for something—anything I might use to defend myself and escape.

  The phone rings from the kitchen. “Oh, that will be my dad. I called him earlier to let him know the truck was out of gas. I told him I had a ride with Keith and Kim up here. Which I do, but not for another ninety minutes. I’ve planned everything out very carefully. See how everything is falling into place? Don’t go anywhere,” he cautions, heading toward the kitchen.

  I immediately get up as soon as he’s gone. I can hear him talking to someone on the phone. My eyes dart around the room for something—anything I can use. There’s a closet underneath the large staircase to the loft above. A perfect place to store hunting rifles; a bow and arrow, anything that can help me defend myself.

  I open the door and see a wooden chest against the back of the closet. It’s long enough to hold rifles. I switch the light on inside the closet and open the chest.

  I feel my jaw drop as I recognize the contents. My 8-track player is inside, along with my Carly Simon tape, but there’s also something I recognize that isn’t mine. I lift up the folded yellow tee shirt and shake it out. The bold, red lettering I’ve seen before:

  1973 Battle of the Bands, Salt Lake City, Utah

  1st Place

  That’s Angie’s tee shirt. He took her shirt like some…some token?

  “What are you doing?” he voice is behind me now. “Are you fucking snooping in my shit?”

  He grabs me from behind and I scratch, claw and struggle to get out of his grip, but I can’t. He knocks me to the floor with one quick blow to the back of my head.

  I’m stunned and silenced at the same time.

  “Now,” he continues, “I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all. Why are you being so uncooperative? You treat me like shit these days. Do I deserve that? Huh?”

  I play possum, but not for long. He kicks me in the ribs, hard. I moan in pain. “Why are you doing this to me?” I ask.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” he mocks. “Same shit, different day! You’re just like fuckin’ Angie, aren’t you? Except, you’re even more of a prick tease than she was! Must like Erik’s cock, huh? She liked it, she even told me so that last time we talked on the phone. She fucking had to hurt me like that on Christmas Eve!”

  Oh God.

  “Yeah,” he says with a smirk. “She had the nerve to go to the mall wearing that fucking tee shirt in there. Just had to keep rubbing it in my face. Even after he dumped her ass, she still wouldn’t have me back. They didn’t find her wearing that tee shirt in the car though. Nope. They certainly did not!”

  “You killed her,” I whisper. “Is that what you have planned for me?”

  “I had to kill her,” he replies. “She was pregnant.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Oh not by your precious Erik,” he sneers. “Nope. The baby was mine. You see, she and I got down right after Erik dumped her, you know, for old time’s sake? It was right before Homecoming. We were both so fucked up we didn’t even think about using a condom. I mean, what the fuck? Just one time, right? So she was the one that called me once she got out of rehab.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. She called me. Needed money for an abortion. She was afraid the baby would be fucked-up. Hey, I didn’t want her to have one, but she . . . she wasn’t listening to me,” he says, his voice quivering now with anger. She was all about the money. Even when I offered to marry her,” he snarls. “Know what she said?”

  I slowly shook my head.

  “The bitch said ‘dream on’ . . . said she wanted Erik back! So, you see, I have to destroy everything that son of a bitch has taken from me. It’s only right, Angie, you know that!”

  I lift my upper body from the floor and struggle to look at him, though I’m starting to feel the effects of the pills he forced down me. “I’
m Cece,” I reply, “And, I belonged to Erik first. Please don’t do this. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

  “Do you think I’m a stupid mother-fucker?” he asks, incredulously.

  “Look,” I plead, trying to make his mind think logically, but knowing it’s too far gone with the acid trip at the moment, “Nobody is gonna believe that two high school girls in a small town like Evanston both committed suicide. They’ll trip you up for sure. Let’s just forget any of this happened. I’m willing.”

  He looks at me with glassy eyes, and a smirk plays across his lips. “Good point. Now see, that’s a piece of information I can appreciate.”

  He goes to the kitchen and there’s nothing I can do because my legs and arms feel like lead; my head feels heavy, too. I look at the clock over the mantle. It’s 9:35 p.m. Erik’s band is just finishing their first set. He’s wondering where I am; worried that I’ve had an accident. I hate Marshall with every fiber in my being.

  I make one last attempt to put one foot in front of the other and make it to the front door. That idea slips into darkness as does every other part of me.

  My eyes open slowly, but still they feel as if sand has been poured into them. I’m in the passenger seat of my VW. My head rolls to the side and I see Marshall is driving. His eyes are huge, as if he’s seen a ghost; he’s wide-eyed as he drives my bug along the curving, hilly roads.

  “Where are we?” I choke out, still groggy from the downers.

  He doesn’t even look at me, he’s that focused on whatever his eyes are seeing through the purple haze of acid he’s been eating. “We’re almost to Snake Ridge,” he replies, “Can’t you feel your ears popping? Fucking far out, isn’t it? It’s like we’re on top of the world. Too bad it’s all a fucking lie. Every bit of it.”

  “Wha…What?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Cece. Your world is about to end. Everyone knows how dangerous it is around Snake Ridge, and hey, it’s even on the way to Kemmerer, just a short-cut you decided to take to get to the Shady Lady quicker. Not a good idea at night on slippery roads, though. See there? We just passed where my truck ran out of gas. Dad had it towed. And pretty soon, Keith will be by to pick me up just like I asked him to earlier today.”

  “You….you’re insane,” I manage to hiss.

  “Or fucking brilliant,” he replies, “You know there’s a very fine line between the two, don’t you?”

  For a moment, I think about opening the car door and hurling myself out. It might offer more of a chance to live than what I’ll get from this psycho. But, my hands feel numb and I realize it’s because he’s got them tied together. My ankles too.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, somehow knowing that I’ve figured this out. “This won’t take long. It took less than five minutes with Angie. You see, I have this magic injection that I will put behind your knee—no fear, it will only sting for a minute and then you’ll be numb and soon . . . paralyzed. I promise. I don’t get off on inflicting unnecessary pain, trust me. And, the beauty of it is that even if they do a tox screen, the fuckers won’t know to look for this! Ha! It’s a horse tranquilizer. My mom has plenty of it in her clinic. She won’t miss this little bit. She won’t even think to notice with the number of vials she has of the shit.”

  I struggle to comprehend this. “No,” is all I can say. “Please, no.”

  “Don’t beg. It’s pathetic. You’re history, bitch. Just like Angie.”

  He pulls the VW off the road and onto a dirt trail that leads to the edge of a tall, steep cliff. Over the edge is a gorge, the water rushing and ice cold in the winter. During the summer, this is a place to go to get high in seclusion. Or make love. Or meet up with someone that’s a secret to your parents.

  Right now?

  This is the place where I’m gonna die.

  He puts the car in neutral, pulls up the hand brake and gets out. In moments, he’s wrenched open the passenger side door, lifting me out and taking me around to the driver’s side and placing me in the seat he just exited. I can still feel the warmth of his body on the seat.

  He reaches into a leather bag he had stashed in the back seat, unzipping it and pulling out a syringe and small glass vial. I watch in horror as he expertly plunges the need into the rubber seal of the vial and extracts a syringe full of whatever fluid is inside.

  He puts the empty vial back into the leather bag and the tips of his fingers flip against the glass cylinder of the syringe. His thumb pushes the plunger upward, making sure a small stream of the medication squirts out of the tip of the needle.

  He squats down on his haunches, pushing my tethered ankles over so that he can access the back side of my left leg. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as I feel the prick of the needle and feel the pressure of the medicine going into the back of my knee, near the crease where it bends.

  “There now,” he says, pulling the syringe away and standing up. He puts it into the leather bag, zipping it up. He drops it to his feet and then bends over again, untying my ankles and my wrists and tossing the binds onto the ground beside my car.

  I feel him take my hands and place them on the steering wheel, but I can’t move them away. Whether it’s the medicine or pure fear, I can’t tell. All I know is that it’s over for me. Just like it was over for Angie. I study my hand and see that the ring Erik gave me is no longer on my finger. He’s taken it and I didn’t even feel him do it.

  I take a deep breath. It just may be my last, because whatever the fuck he shot me up with is doing what it’s supposed to do. I’m numb and it starts at my extremities and moves up my center. I can think, I can be terrified, but my hands, my feet, my lips and my neck are frozen.

  “Now,” he says, putting the gear shift in neutral. “Don’t guess you can move the clutch or the gas,” he chuckles. “Doesn’t matter. Won’t be much left of you or the car if and when they fish it out. Oh, don’t worry—it won’t take long. They’ll be searching for you at first light, I’m sure. So, enjoy the trip. You’ll be dead before you land.”

  And he’s right. I’m fighting for my breath right now. I’m paralyzed to the point where my lungs can’t draw a breath. My eyes flutter shut as my oxygen is cut off.

  “Happy landing,” he says, releasing the hand brake before he shuts the door and walks along the side of my car, pushing it from the side, rocking it back and forth. The car rolls toward the edge. A couple of more feet and it’s over. I feel Marshall rocking it harder, and with one heavy push, he shoves it over the cliff.

  I’m airborne. Everything goes dark. Everything in my world ceases to exist.

  Chapter 25

  Cece is gone. It’s just me now. Alone and crumpled up on the frozen, snow-covered ground feeling the warm tears trickling down my face. I’m exhausted and not just from the possession, but because the reality of what she had gone through in the final hours of her short life is both heart breaking and gut-wrenching.

  I wipe the tears with a gloved hand and somehow pull myself up, brushing the snow from my pants.

  The drive home seems like it takes forever. I’m numb with exhaustion and sadness as I seriously question my own sanity for having agreed to do this. I never expected the effect it would have on me, physically and emotionally.

  This is so different than what it was like when it was Ma taking me back. I ponder that and figure it’s because with Ma, there was kind of a happily ever after and I had a stake in that; it led me to find my father.

  But this?

  This is so different. How can I possibly help Cece find resolution? What does she possibly think can happen in order to right this wrong?

  She expects me to take a federal judge down?

  Seriously?

  Once home, I go to my room and crawl into my bed, pulling the covers up and over my head.

  I stay there for two days.

  “Parrish,” my father’s voice comes from the other side of my bedroom door. “May I come in, please? We’re worried sick about you.”

  I pull the covers bac
k and sit up, my fingers rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Come in,” I call out.

  The look of concern on his face is totally paternal. What a great Dad I have. Immediately, a wave of anger splinters through me at Walter; the asshole who stole my mother away from me and cheated us all out of knowing one another for more than twenty-seven years.

  “Do you think maybe you should see a doctor?” he asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed, watching me. “Sheila thinks you may have a virus. You haven’t eaten much or gotten out of bed for a couple of days. We’re worried,” he states.

  I know that he is. I realize that I need to come clean with him so he knows the reason that I’ve taken to my bed isn’t a virus at all, it’s pure anger and maybe a little bit of fear of what I’ve witnessed through Cece.

  “Dad,” I whisper, “I need to tell you what happened with Cece. I think I’m gonna need some help with this.”

  He nods.

  I tell him everything.

  Afterwards, he reaches for my hand. “Are you absolutely sure you want to dig this up, Parrish? Are you up for it?”

  I nod. “I will deal with it as long as I know that you’ll help me sort it all out. I’m not sure where to start.”

  He kisses the back of my hand gently; his eyes are warm and caring. “I have an old friend,” he says softly. “He owes me...well, let’s just say, he owes me in a major way,” he finishes. I’ll give him a call. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Uh, Dad?” I say, not wanting to seem ungrateful or, worse yet, sound insulting, “I mean, this friend, uh...he’s not in the mob or anything, right?”

  “No, Bambolina. You should know better than that. You might recall him. Marco Trevani?”

  Ahh...yes.

  “The FBI Agent that went undercover in the Mafia, you mean he’s still alive?” I ask, incredulously.

  “La Cosa Nostra and, yes, he’s quite healthy as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?”

  I shrug. “I guess I figured that someone within the...mob or, uh, La Cosa Nostra had him eliminated or something,” I reply hesitantly.