Toward the Sound of Chaos

by Carmen Jenner

  “I do talk to someone,” he says gruffly. “I talk to you and Spencer.”

  “Yes, but there are other measures you can take. Medications to make you feel better.”

  “I don’t need none of that garbage.” He picks up his walking stick and points the end of it at me. “I told you I left my house just a few nights ago.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes because I know that ain’t true. Williams hasn’t left his front porch for years, with the exception of the morning after Jimmy wrecked my house. He has his morning paper, groceries and meals delivered. Even then I bring him dinner most nights, just in case he forgets to eat.

  “I don’t have time to play this game, Mr. Williams. Just please stop feedin’ my boy Nutter Butters. Don’t make me ban him from coming over here.”

  I turn on my heel and prepare to head back across the road when he says, “Five nights back, I left my stoop and took a walk downtown. ’Bout midnight, I’d be reckonin’. It was peaceful. Satisfyin’. Felt like the right thing to do.”

  “I’m glad for you, Mr. Williams.” I turn and face him. I’m caught off guard by the way he’s looking at me so expectantly. Uneasily, I say, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and coax my child down from the ceiling what with all the sugar he just consumed.”

  I shake my head and walk across the road and into the house. Just as I thought he’d be, Spence is runnin’ amok, jumpin’ all over the furniture from one piece to another as he sings the Marine Hymn at the top of his lungs.

  God damn Nutter Butters.

  I’m in for a long night.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ellie

  It’s been a week since I’ve seen Jake. The bruises on my wrist where he grabbed me had faded within a few days, but the ones on my heart? Well, they are still very much in place. I know he did what he did in order to push me away. I may be blonde, but I’m not stupid. He’d frightened me though, but worse than that, he’d called me an unfit mother, and a part of me has always believed that that’s true.

  I know I do everything I can for my son. I love him more than I love anyone else on God’s green earth, and certainly more than myself, but a part of me always wonders why I can’t make him happy the way Jake does, the way Nuke and even Mr. Williams do. Why I can’t just reach out and touch him like other mothers can with their children. He never tells me he loves me; I know he does, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t wanna hear it.

  None of these things make me a bad mother, but despite the fact that I love him unconditionally, sometimes I lie awake at night wishing things were different. I wish that we had it easier. I wish that we didn’t have to scrape through from one paycheck to another, that there wasn’t a meltdown every time there was the smallest change to his routine. And the horrible truth that I’ll never admit to anyone: sometimes I wish my child wasn’t born autistic.

  That’s the thing about wishes, though—they’re just that. Hopes thrown out to the universe, swept away on a breeze and left up to fate. More often than not, wishes don’t come true, and my little boy wouldn’t be mine if he’d been made any other way. All the riches in the world couldn’t replace those rare and imperfect smiles from my son.

  I pull into the drive and get Spence out of the car. He’s straight into the living room, his head stuck in the book Mr. Williams gave him on Vietnam last week. I decide lettin’ him be is easier than having to coax him into helping me bring the groceries in, so I wander outside and open the trunk. When I turn around, I notice Williams isn’t on his front porch. Yesterday he’d been a right pain in my butt, callin’ me over between clients to sort through boxes and boxes of junk and telling me if I didn’t take it, that he’d be giving it to goodwill. I’d been out-of-my-mind busy with a trial updo for Sherry Pickering’s wedding in a few months, and I’d had next to no patience for sortin’ through Williams’s treasure trove of madness.

  I shrug off the niggling feeling I have around his absence. He may be a little under the weather, or taking a nap. I feel bad for being short with him, so I decide I’ll bring him some supper and a slice of that Lane cake that I made over the weekend.

  I grab the mail from the letterbox without looking at it and head inside with my groceries to make dinner. Once in the kitchen, I put the food away and throw the mail on the table; those past-due notices can wait until I’ve opened a bottle of wine because I’ll likely feel the need for a drink once I see how much money I owe.

  When dinner is almost ready, I call Spence in to set the table. He pokes at the letters and fishes out a thick, cream envelope from the stack. “Why did Mr. Williams send us a letter?”

  “What?” I ask, staring at the item in question.

  Spencer picks it up and turns it over in his hand. “It’s Mr. Williams’s writing.”

  “Show me that.” I take my gravy from off the heat and place it on a cooling rack.

  “It’s right here; that’s his handwriting. And he has one of those wax seals with his initials, look. He stamped it on the back.”

  I wipe my hands on my apron and take the envelope from Spence. I break the seal and pull out the letter, my heart pounding in my chest, afraid it might be an eviction notice because he’s planning on selling my house. My hands begin to shake the further I read, and I rest my hip against the kitchen counter and cover my mouth with my free hand.

  Ms. Mason,

  I took care of it so you wouldn’t have to.

  So Jake Tucker wouldn’t have to.

  And now I’m taking care of the rest.

  Look after that boy.

  Marcus Williams

  “Oh my God.” The letter falls from my hands.

  “What’s wrong, Mamma?”

  “Stay here, baby.” I turn the oven off and then, apron on and barefoot, I flee through the front door.

  When I hit the road, I’m almost taken out by the Fairhope Police squad car. Brakes squeal; the car bounces to a stop just inches from my legs, and wide-eyed, I stare through the windshield at Sergeant Murphy. I slam my hand down on the hood and continue on up the front porch steps to Mr. Williams’s house.

  “Ellie,” Murphy calls, but I ignore him and burst into Williams’s house as the shot goes off and he slumps forward in his armchair.

  “No!” I scream. “No, no no!”

  My ears ring. Brain matter splatters the chair and wall, and plaster dust falls from the ceiling. Blood pours from the hole in his head onto the worn wooden floor.

  I press my hand tightly to my mouth in order to cover the keening cries coming from my throat and lungs. A beat later, I’m jostled out of the way.

  “Get her outta here,” Sergeant Murphy orders, and Officer Squires ushers me out of the house as tears pour down my face in a torrent. I can’t breathe—all I can see is him there one minute, and a hole through his head the next.

  Georgina helps me navigate the stairs, which is a blessing because I’m pretty sure my trembling legs would have given out by now if she hadn’t been there to lean on. “Let’s get you back home, okay?”

  “Mamma.” Spencer’s voice pulls me from my despair. “Was that Mr. Williams’s rifle goin’ off?”

  I stare at my son and swipe the tears from my face. My hand comes away red. I make a small animalistic cry in the back of my throat. “Why are you bleeding, Mamma?”

  I can’t help it. I’ve had eight years of being a steel pillar when it comes to being strong for my son, but now I just collapse onto the walk. Georgina goes down with me, squeezing my shoulders for comfort. I gasp like a fish outta water. I can’t breathe. I sit there panting, clinging onto a woman I hardly know as if holding onto someone could erase everything I just saw.

  The blood. So much blood, and the scent of hot metal, gunpowder, and raw meat lingers inside my nose, forcing bile to rise in my throat.

  “Mamma,” Spencer screams, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s seeing me on my knees, my shirt and face dusted with blood, or if it’s because he just worked out what happene
d, but like a shot he takes off down the street.

  I shrug out of Georgina’s embrace and scramble to my feet. Sirens slice the air. I panic because I know his triggers—I know that loud noises send him into meltdown.

  “Spencer!” I shout. My legs feel as if they’ve been weighed down with lead. I trip on the uneven footpath and go sprawling, but I hardly feel the sting before I’m up again and running after my son. Farther down the street, Spencer stands paralyzed as the ambulance roars closer, lights flashing, siren wailing. He runs onto the road, and I can only watch on in horror as I see him stop dead in his tracks while the ambulance hurtles towards him. He covers his ears and closes his eyes.

  Everything moves at warp speed and slow motion all at once. The ambulance skids to a stop, and Spencer’s little body goes flying through the air and lands on the pavement. My heart stops. I dive toward my son, my legs skating across the road as if I were sliding into home base before the ball.

  “Spence! Spence!” I scream, gently tapping his face. His head hit the pavement pretty hard, but I can’t see no blood. I pat him down, frantically inventorying his limbs and body. His leg lies at the oddest angle, and I cry out when I see the blood gushing from it and the stark white bone protruding from the leg of his pants. My hand covers my mouth and I gasp. Then I scream for help.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ellie

  I wait. I pace. These are the actions I’m limited to. I’ve about worn a hole in the floor of this damn room. I’ve already chewed my nails down to stubs and I’d considered screaming at the top of my lungs, but I figured that would get me locked up in the psych ward for the night so I didn’t do it.

  It’s been three hours already. I head to the nurses’ station and ask again, though I know there’s no news. The woman shakes her head, her lovely silver bob glinting under the lights as she moves. I take a deep breath. I should have never run across that road. If I’d only waited five extra minutes, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have seen what I had, and Spence wouldn’t have come out after me.

  “Angel?” His voice rolls over me like rough honey, and I immediately burst into tears. I can’t face him now.

  I feel his presence behind me. His gentle grasp on the back of my neck has me losing it all together, and he turns me and pulls me into his arms. Nuke sniffs at the grazes on my leg. His cold, wet nose nudges the side of my thigh and his fur tickles.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice is muffled by Jake’s T-shirt, and I know I’m leaving wet patches all over him but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Olivia called. Said she was on her way back from Tuscaloosa and to meet you here, that Spencer had been in an accident. I left so damn fast I didn’t even bother to hang up the phone. What happened? Is he alright?”

  “I don’t know. They’re still in surgery and not tellin’ me a thing,” I sob. “Mr. Williams is dead. He shot himself in the face as I was opening his door.”

  Jake’s whole body stiffens. “What?”

  “He shot Jimmy. He sent me a letter, and I dashed across the road without thinkin’. I told Spencer to stay put, but I should have waited.”

  “Slow down, angel, you’re not making any sense.”

  “This is all my fault, Jake.”

  “Shh. No, it isn’t.” He smooths the hair back from my forehead and kisses my head.

  “You were right. I’m a terrible mother. I got my kid run over.”

  “Angel, no,” he whispers, squeezing me tighter. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I was afraid that I’d hurt you and Spence. I was seeing a lot of things and I didn’t know if they were real, if I lived them in another time and place and my head was messing with me, or if I’d taken a rifle and gunned a man down in the middle of Fairhope. It’s no excuse for saying the things I said, or for hurtin’ you like that, but you gotta know—you’re an amazing Mamma.”

  “I don’t know if he’s going to be okay.” My voice catches on a sob and he pulls me closer, wrapping his hand behind my head and holding it to his chest.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, but I know I don’t want to leave the warmth of his embrace. Not yet—not until I know what’s going on with my son.

  “Ellie?” Olivia says, and I pull away from Jake in order to hug her. She must have broken every speed limit between here and Tuscaloosa to get here so fast. “Is there any news?”

  “Nothing. It’s all my fault, Liv.”

  “Oh honey, no. You couldn’t have seen this coming.” She leads me over to one of the hard plastic seats and pulls me down beside her. Jake takes the seat to my other side and together we wait.

  ***

  I wake with his warm shoulder beneath my cheek. I rest my head there a moment longer, breathing in his scent. I miss him so much. Jake slips his fingers between mine and gently squeezes. I’m sure he knows I’m awake, but he doesn’t say anything—he just comforts me. Ironic, considering he broke my heart little more than a week ago.

  The door from surgery opens into the waiting room, and I jump up at the sight of the doctor whose hands I’d left my most treasured possession in hours earlier. He’s decked out in brightly colored pediatric scrubs that have Marvel characters all over them. I cringe, knowing Spence would have a meltdown if he were faced with the too-loud material.

  “Ms. Mason.”

  “Is my baby okay?”

  He nods. “Spencer’s just fine. He has a compound fracture of the left tibia and fibula. They’re not uncommon, but they’re not easy to recover from either. We’ve placed several pins in his leg, but there’s some tissue damage and possibly some nerve damage too, though we won’t know about that until a little later. He’s in recovery now, but he’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few days. He’ll also need a lot of rest when he gets home and some physiotherapy in the future to aid in his recovery.”

  I nod, anxious to visit my son. “Can I see him?”

  “Of course,” he says, and looks to Olivia and Jake, and then at Nuke. He frowns, displaying his annoyance at seeing a dog here in the hospital, which riles me on Jake’s behalf.

  “He’s a therapy dog,” I say.

  The doctor raises a skeptical brow. “No other visitors allowed at this time. Just you.”

  I nod and look back at Olivia and Jake. “Y’all go on home and get some rest. We’ll be fine. I’ll keep you posted if anything changes.”

  “Are you sure?” Olivia says, and I reach out and squeeze her arm. “We don’t mind stayin’.”

  “No, I want to be there when he wakes up, and I don’t know how long that will take, but thank you for waiting with me.”

  “Ms. Mason,” the surgeon calls. “When you’re ready.”

  I turn and face him. It’s a good thing the man just fixed my son, because I have half a mind to put him over my knee and teach him some manners.

  I don’t look at Jake as I’m leaving. I can’t deal with my feelings for him right now, so I hurry through the doors that lead me to the most important little man in the whole world.

  After the pain meds have kicked in and Spencer’s doctor assures me he’ll be out for some time, I decide to head home and catch a few winks so I can be back here when he wakes. I might have just stayed in the armchair by his side, but I’m still wearing a shirt with Mr. Williams’s blood on it. My ruined apron got thrown in the trash when the nurses pulled me aside and cleaned me up so they could bandage the grazes on my legs, but they couldn’t do much about my shirt, and Spencer don’t need to see his mamma looking like she just stepped in from the slaughterhouse.

  I give the nurses’ station on the children’s ward my number and ask them to call me the second he opens his eyes. I’m sure they’re not unfamiliar with autism, but that makes no difference to someone who lives with it every day. I need to be there when my son wakes up.

  When I leave the ward and head out into the waiting room, I’m surprised to find Jake sitting in the same chair I left him in. Nuke is curled up at his feet. He lifts his head when
the doors close behind me, rattling the lead tied tight around his owner’s hand. Jake’s eyes spring open and he’s instantly alert, his torso ramrod straight as he looks me over, eyes scanning. Always scanning for threats, these Marines. Mr. Williams did it too.

  “What are you still doing here?” I ask.

  “Thought you might need a ride.”

  It’s true. I do. I rode in the ambulance with Spence. I hadn’t even thought about that fact when I was leaving just now, and it could be kind of hard to get a cab at three in the morning in downtown Fairhope.

  “Thank you.”

  Jake stands. “How’s he doin’?”

  “Groggy,” I say. “He was talking about skiing and how it was a shame he wouldn’t be able to now that he’d broken his leg and would have to wait until next winter. Spencer’s never been skiing a day in his life.”

  “Yeah, those pain meds will hit you hard sometimes.” We start walking slowly toward the exit, Nuke trailing in our wake. “How are you holding up?”

  I laugh, humorlessly. “I feel like someone took a whittling knife and pared me down to the core. I’m a mess.”

  “And Williams?” he says softly, bringing us to a stop by his truck. “How are you with that?”

  “No. I can’t.” I turn to him with tears in my eyes. “I can’t talk about that right now.”

  He nods and opens the passenger-side door for me. Of course Nuke goes to jump up, but Jake tells him to sit and the dog gives an unimpressed “woof”. I climb into Jake’s truck and flinch when he grabs the seatbelt and leans over me to buckle me in.

  “I got it,” I say, but Jake ignores me anyway, and a beat later the metallic click of my buckle resounds inside the cab. I suck in a sharp breath, because just a few hours ago a different metallic click meant a lot more than my seatbelt sliding into place. It meant Williams’s life bleeding away onto his hardwood floors.

  “You okay, angel?”