Every Mountain Made Low

by Alex White

  “I like you pretty good.” She pursed her lips. “Did you find my cashbox when you found my cart?”

  “Nora found it.”

  “I guess I should thank her, then.”

  He exhaled a stream of white smoke. “I guess you should. She packed up your things, but she said she’d bring you the cashbox. I take it you didn’t see her?”

  “No. She got in a limo.”

  “What? Why did she get in a limo?”

  “Because she wanted to.”

  “Ah, she’ll turn up somewhere... Goddamn, it’s cold.”

  Loxley jumped when he put his arm around her and patted her shoulder. He squeezed her, and she felt the flutter pass. She leaned into his armpit, enjoying the warmth of his side.

  “Sorry I startled you,” he said. “Just figured you could use a hug. Seemed like you were having a rough day.”

  “Yeah. You really think no one likes you?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Definitely. No one likes a cop, you know?”

  She sighed. “No one likes me, either.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Everyone hates me for some reason or another. They’re mean to my face, and I bet they’re real nasty behind my back.”

  “I like you plenty, Loxley.”

  She knew he was looking at her, but she kept her gaze solidly on the ground. “Why? I’m ugly and weird.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Am so.”

  He chuckled. “Well, you’re not ugly.”

  She swallowed. “You think I’m pretty?”

  He tossed away his cigarette and turned her by the shoulders to face him. His skin was deeply tanned from his long days in the sun, dark against his salty brown moustache. He looked her over with his chestnut eyes, and leaned toward her. She moved back a little, unsure of what was happening.

  His lips met hers, cold and wet, and Loxley’s limbs seized up with the sudden shock of his kiss. She leaned back, but his mouth wouldn’t come off hers, his tongue running across her teeth. One hand slid down to her hip, and his other hand wound up under her shirt, forcefully massaging one of her breasts and clawing at her bra. She yelped into his mouth, muffled by his skin, and he leaned against her, weighing her down.

  See that man over there, Lox? That’s a policeman.

  Her body locked up in its revulsion, and her brain caught fire. She couldn’t breathe, and she shivered violently. His mustache scraped against her face, and his hand shot down her belly, pushing against her skin, trying to worm under her belt. The words wouldn’t come out. She had to scream, but it died inside her. He managed to get the tips of his calloused fingers into her pants, and she kicked out as hard as she could. He pulled at her pubic hair, trying to reach her insides.

  You have to always treat them with respect and do as they say.

  Loxley’s hands balled into fists, her fingertips blazing with electricity. The ants boiled across her legs, biting flesh everywhere they touched. She began to sing with every exhalation, and she tore her face away from him. She pushed him away as hard as she could.

  “Come on, baby. You can’t tell me you don’t want this,” he growled, yanking her closer. His strength terrified her, and she couldn’t escape his hungry grip. “It’s okay. Just let me show you how. Shh, baby, just relax.”

  If you don’t listen to them, you could get in serious trouble. Do you understand?

  “Nnn!” She couldn’t make her mouth say no. Her head grew light as her lungs tried to hold onto each slippery breath. “Nn! P-p –”

  Loxley’s arm uncoiled like a striking snake, and she brought her palm across his ear with all her might, stunning him. She scrabbled away, slapping his face and clawing at his eyes.

  “What the fuck, Loxley?” he screeched. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  Venom flooded her blood. Her mother was wrong about policemen. Her mother was a damned liar. The thought rolled through her mind over and over, swelling into rage. Hot tears rolled down her shaking face, and her lips curled into an aching frown. She didn’t have any words, and she hugged herself, rocking to calm the storm.

  He got to his feet. “Why are you looking at me like that? You seriously going to tell me you didn’t want it?”

  She dug under the cuffs of her pants and stabbed her bare legs with her fingernails, willing away the ants. She shivered in the winter air.

  “Laying on me, hugging me and all that shit. What was that?” Some of his graying hair had fallen out of place, and he smoothed it back down. “What was I supposed to think, huh? Don’t blame me for this! You’re the one acting like a goddamned whore.”

  What if he was right? She didn’t understand other people. They behaved erratically, and when she failed to grasp their intent, they’d get mad at her. What if this was her fault? Shame burned in the pit of her stomach. She blinked away some tears, trying to speak. She went to open her mouth, but she thought she might vomit, and swallowed as hard as she could.

  “You got something to say for yourself, Loxie?”

  She wanted to take that name back from him. That was the name her mother called her. “You’re...” Her speech balanced on a tightrope, ready to tumble into uncontrollable wailing if she didn’t concentrate. “You’re m-married!”

  “You think that’s how this works?” he bellowed, blasting away what courage she’d mustered. She shrunk ever tighter, wrapping herself into a little ball. She wanted to go hide in a deep, dark hole, like her namesake. He paced back and forth. “I come home every day for twenty-seven years and don’t get so much as a thank you for risking my fucking neck. Then you come along, batting your eyelashes, and it’s like, finally someone appreciates me, you know. You know?”

  Her muscles burned. She was doing everything she could not to disappear into the static in her brain.

  He hunkered down, getting on her level. He seemed calmer, but she couldn’t chance standing up. She saw tears in his eyes, too. He sniffled. “But that was just a lie, wasn’t it? You wanted me to play babysitter because you’re too crazy to cross a street. I’m right, aren’t I? You were pretending, using me while it was convenient – never planning to give anything back.”

  Officer Crutchfield continued to move in on her. She might faint any second. She’d stopped breathing.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t see this before now. You women... if it wasn’t for your pussies, we’d dump you in the steelworks. I thought you could make me happy, but in the end, you’re just another retarded bitch.” He reached down and patted her head.

  “I’ll kill you.” The words rushed from her at his touch, raw and primal, and she bored into his eyes with hers. “Don’t touch me again.”

  He recoiled, considering her. His hand crept over his holstered pistol. If he pulled it, would he shoot her? Would he rape her? Loxley wondered if she was ready to die to stop him. The static rolled through her at the thought, offering to take her away from the fear, and she focused on the gun to keep her mind in place.

  He took a hesitant step back, then another, never turning away from her. “You made your biggest mistake tonight, girl. You’re never going to sell in my market again.”

  And then he turned and lumbered away, rubbing his ear and cursing. She regarded his passage for a long time after he’d left, trying to hold it together in case he darkened her vision once again. No one had ever touched her like that man, and she’d let him... How could she let him do that to her? Why didn’t she hit him? Her body stung from where he’d scratched her belly.

  Her arms gave out from under her, and Loxley laid down upon the frigid concrete steps. She held herself and shook, but no coat would have been able to warm her. When she was sure Officer Crutchfield was gone, she let go of her restraint. She shook the crackles from her burning fingers, kicked the ants from her legs and sang, low and hoarse, a single note. When that wore off, she wept.

  Perhaps hours passed. Perhaps minutes. She had no way of knowing. It was still dark outside, and the cold had seeped into her bones. Loxle
y sat up and brushed her hair from her face. She wiped away the snot with the back of a quivering hand.

  She wanted to see Nora. There would be a warm apartment, a nice bed and hot tea. Her friend could tell her about men, or just hold her and not say anything. Nora could tell her if she’d been a bad person, if she should have let Officer Crutchfield fuck her; Nora would want Loxley to curl up in her arms and the tears would flow freely like blood from an infected wound. Nora could make this right.

  When Loxley blinked, she’d already begun to stumble down the street. She couldn’t remember taking the steps. Her friend lived a block and a half away, and Loxley could see the winking yellow fluorescence of Nora’s building. The earnings from Harrison Hoop Station dangled from her pocket, a stack of bills threatening to be torn away by a gust of wind. She stuffed them back inside and looked back at her path to see her friend, standing in the middle of the road a few dozen feet away.

  “Please... help,” said Loxley, sinking to her knees. She waited for her friend’s warm arms to enfold her. “Thank you,” she whispered, over and over again.

  The embrace never came.

  “Please,” screamed Loxley, shutting her eyes tightly. “Please... Nora, please touch me.”

  Only the faraway pounding of the steelworks answered her. She opened her eyes and looked upon her friend.

  Shadows had washed Nora’s eyes – holes in her pallid skin. A single lock of tangled hair crossed her expressionless lips. Her fingers twitched hungrily at her sides, and she shuffled slowly from foot to foot.

  Loxley’s mouth went dry.

  The ghost paced back and forth like an angry prisoner looking for an exit. The less someone expected to die, the meaner the spirit. It crawled up the nearby streetlight before vanishing and reappearing on the ground. It flickered around the scene, testing its boundaries, but every time it made for Loxley, it would turn around and go back. Ghosts didn’t like to wander far from their bodies.

  The static flooded into Loxley again, and she felt as though the buildings would crash down around her. Her body itched, and she still felt Officer Crutchfield’s touch like a handprint on her skin. She jolted her head, throwing off some of the fugue.

  Her words came out malformed. “I can’t tonight, Nora. I can’t... I can’t... I can’t.”

  Loxley hummed as she turned and began shuffling back to her apartment. She wrung her hands together as she walked, eying her path sidelong as she craned her head this way and that, sloshing the static from her mind.

  Her brain caught on the sound of her voice, and she felt all the weight lifting from her as she repeated herself over and over again. “I can’t. Hmmm.... I cann. Hmmmmmoo... Acan’t. Hnnnn. Aka. Whooo... Aka-whoo... Aka-whoo...” She shambled into her building, walking past the elevator. The day began to fade away as she climbed the stairs, feeling the reverberation of her mantra as it bounced around the concrete stairwell. She padded down the hallway, drawing her keys from her pocket. Birdie emerged from her apartment, face twisted with anger, clucking about something or other, but Loxley pushed right past her.

  She fumbled her keys into the lock. Her hands didn’t like her anymore. She opened the door to her cozy, familiar warren and slipped inside, shutting the way behind her in Birdie’s face. She shot the deadbolt. “Aka-whoo... Aka-whoo...” Loxley crossed to her window and sat down in front of it. She cracked the blinds open a tiny bit so she could look out.

  Nora stood in the street, just a block away. It drifted to one side, so far it should have fallen over, but it didn’t. It remained transfixed on the way Loxley had left, staring into nothing as though its eyes had followed Loxley home. Its brown hair began to boil in the still air, floating upward. Loxley hadn’t seen many ghosts, but this one was different.

  Loxley rested her chin on the window ledge and smacked her forehead against the frame. The cold metal felt good, and she did it again, repeating herself until she fell asleep.

  Begging for Lies

  “LOXA-LOX...”

  She awoke into a distorted world, resting against the window. It looked like her bedroom, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be her bedroom, because she hadn’t woken in her bed. She should have felt anxious, but she’d run out of anxiety. All that remained was despair.

  “I’m awake,” she mumbled, but the words felt empty. She hadn’t slept outside of her bed since her mother’s passing, and she felt no connection to her ritual this morning. She glanced at her bed. “Momma, I’m awake.” The icy ball in her gut didn’t dissolve.

  Her neck stung from sleeping at the window, and when she stood, it made snapping noises like a head of celery. Her muscles were strong after years of hauling gardening supplies around, and when she slept wrong, her whole body seized. She felt like a bundle of sticks lashed into the shape of a human – some of those lashings had slipped their bonds to constrict other parts of her, and now her bones wanted to hang all willy-nilly. She stretched, trying to realign her body, but she couldn’t get the tightness out.

  Orange rays had started to tint her window, and she opened the blinds. Nora stood atop a streetlight, glaring at her. Fresh tears moistened Loxley’s exhausted eyes, and she stepped back from the window, nearly losing her balance. The ghost had gotten used to having her nearby, and hungered for her touch. That’s all any ghost wanted – to cling to her living skin for warmth.

  Loxley did everything she could to reignite the engine of routine. She put her clothes on the heater as she made eggs and bacon. She tried talking to her mother’s side of the mattress about her day, but her mother was dead, and that was dumb.

  Her mother hadn’t made a ghost when she died. Loxley had seen plenty of other folks make horrible spirits, especially people her mother’s age. Her mother had died choking, and Loxley hadn’t wanted to stick around. She remembered the conflicting feelings perfectly: did she stay and keep trying to help her mother, or did she run, because her mother was about to pass? Loxley had nearly lost her mind with fear as she’d watched her mother expire. In the end, she’d stayed until the woman became still, and no ghost came to trouble her.

  Loxley supposed her family couldn’t make spirits. When she disappeared into death, there would be no one to care about her passing, not even herself. She imagined a lot of people would have found that sad. People often got sad about dying.

  She got dressed and wandered toward the garden. Birdie didn’t come out to yell at her. Had the woman yelled at her last night? The hallway felt quiet. Another thing out of place. Loxley knocked on Birdie’s door. No answer came, so she knocked louder.

  The door whipped open to the sight of Birdie’s big, white housecoat. “God damn it, little girl, if you haven’t bothered me again. What on earth do you want?”

  “Are you mad at me?” Loxley’s voice creaked when she spoke.

  “Did you darken my stoop to ask me that? The Devil himself couldn’t be bothered to tempt me at this hour.”

  “So you’re mad at me.”

  “Of course I’m mad at you. Jesus Christ, save me from this moron...”

  Loxley nodded. “Okay... Good.”

  She turned to leave when Birdie grabbed her arm, sending a chill up her spine. Loxley screamed and slapped away Birdie’s hand. Loxley broke into ragged breath, hand wringing and tears. She hadn’t expected a touch to frighten her so.

  “I’m sorry!” Loxley blustered.

  Birdie’s lips stretched into a long smile. “Isn’t this a treat? I don’t believe you’ve ever apologized for anything. Is this only for the stupidity I’ve endured this morning, or the whole kit and kaboodle?”

  “I didn’t mean to react that way. Touching has me on edge this morning.”

  “Really? So if I was to slap the fire out of you, you’d find that extra frightening?”

  Loxley swallowed, turned and walked away down the hallway. She’d almost made it to the stairwell door when she heard Birdie call, “You know what? The next time you bother me, I’ll slap you. The time after that, I’m going to slap you.
Maybe that’ll put some sense into your crazy head.”

  “I’m not crazy,” whispered Loxley, swinging open the door and climbing to the roof. She shook out the crackles as she went, the rhythm bringing her breath back into line.

  She emerged into another greenhouse. It wasn’t her greenhouse – that one was back home where Officer Crutchfield was her friend and Nora was alive. She’d fallen through the mirror in her sleep and found herself in a stranger’s garden. She felt the pull of an invisible tether, coaxing her to go back to bed. This place belonged to strangers, and the further she got from her apartment, the more dangerous it would become. She’d read a book about bell divers once. They had to have an air hose that connected them to the ship, and if they lost it, they would die. They lived on top of the ocean every single day, but when they jumped into those waves, they crossed into a foreign kingdom.

  She imagined a fish with a crown and scepter, and that made her chuckle a bit. The mirth drained away as quickly as it came. Something else bad was coming. She knew it as well as she knew the color of the sky, but why did she feel so sure?

  Feelings don’t always make sense, baby. They ain’t supposed to.

  “Shut up, momma.”

  Her work in the garden did nothing to ease her mind. Every plucked vegetable was stolen, no longer hers to take. This world’s Loxley would be along any moment to kill her. She worked quickly, pruning the best jewel-toned vegetables and dumping them into buckets. Her grip tightened on her pruning knife, solid in her hand. Its hooked blade flashed under the rust spots like the sun passing behind clouds. When she’d finished, she wiped the dew from her blade, folded it and stowed it in the pocket of her coveralls.

  Loxley usually returned all of her tools to a large chest near the door, but today, she wanted to keep her knife handy. After she’d lined up all the buckets by the door, she stopped and stared at the tool chest. The pruning knife belonged there, next to the oil can, not in her pocket. She wished she hadn’t stopped before leaving to think about taking the blade. The memory of Officer Crutchfield’s touch rushed to the surface without warning, and she stepped over the threshold without further pause. After all, her routine was already shot. She may as well be able to cut a deserving throat if it came to it.