by Alex White
Loxley stepped on a particularly spongy board and felt it give beneath her foot. If she placed her full weight upon it, she would certainly fall. She padded around, looking for the size of the rotten area so she could jump across. It had been a stupid idea to come in here, and her fingers sizzled with crackles as ants swarmed her legs. She was taking too long. Hiram would catch her.
She managed to step over the weak patch as she heard the click of metal.
“Stop,” called Hiram, lacking any of the charms he’d used on Nora. When she turned to face him, he was holding the gun he’d used to kill her best friend.
Loxley stopped, though she shook out her fingers. The gun seemed to radiate in Hiram’s hand as he pointed it at her face. Her surroundings dimmed, while the chrome pistol only glinted more brightly. Light danced over it like fireflies, and she could see the floorboards reflected along its sides. Hiram said something to her, but she only craned her head, trying to make the lines of the floorboards align with the side of the gun.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he laughed. “Never seen a gun before?”
“I’ve seen one,” she whispered back.
He licked his lips. “Do you know who I am?”
“No.”
He tightened his grip on the gun. “You’re a bad liar. You looked right at me on the street like you knew me.”
His pistol flashed again, reminding Loxley it was the only important object in the room. She stared into its barrel, wondering if she would see the muzzle flash before she died. She wanted to take a step closer, to look inside it and see if she could spot a bullet. She forced herself to look at Hiram’s face – he smiled.
“Tell me what you know about me.”
Loxley thought of the lusty looks he gave her friend, of his cynicism and of the cold finality of his murderous glare. Nora was always looking into his eyes. She tried to gaze directly into him to see what he held there for her. She couldn’t make it out.
“I know you’re going to die for what you did,” she said. “You killed my best friend.”
“Now, we’re getting somewhere. How do you know that?”
Loxley shrugged.
“And who’s going to kill me?”
“I am,” she said.
“Then I guess I’d better shoot you now, huh?”
Her stomach turned inside out. “You can try. Get closer so you don’t miss.”
As he stepped forward, pushing the gun toward her face, his foot plunged through the rotten floor. He sank into the structure like quicksand, and the pistol erupted next to her head, deafening her in one ear. Hiram shouted, and she spun to flee, not caring to see what became of him. She needed to put distance between her and the killer – long, desperate strides that carried her toward the opposite door as fast as her legs could go. She couldn’t worry about rotten spots any longer; she had to barrel forward and let fate do what it would.
She threw her shoulder into the door and the far hallway opened to her. Two vagrants peered out at her from their hiding places behind stacked crates, their bodies stinking of sweat and rot. A million details swarmed her mind like insects: flaking paint, the long rows of shattered glass panes that ran along the hall, a pile of chicken bones stacked next to a barrel, the scent of urine. She dug her nails into her palms and listened to the ringing in her right ear. She sang along with it as quietly as she could.
The men made no motion to emerge from their safe spots. She dashed between them toward the smoky windows on the north wall. Once there, she shoved open one of the louvers and clambered out the opening. The bruises covering her body lit up like fire as she squeezed onto the ledge, but fresh air greeted her nostrils along with the sight of the setting sun. She could see Magic City Heights a block and a half away, and she’d already lost Hiram.
The ground was at least twenty feet below her, but she spied a catwalk only a few feet away. She leapt down onto it, and it detached from the wall with a crack. Steel and brick screamed against one another. The ground rushed up to meet her. She was thrown free, skidding across the asphalt and ripping the arm from her shirt as she rolled.
Deafness and pain drowned out all other distractions. She raised a hand to her right ear and felt blood. Static pressed upon her thoughts as she arose, staggering toward her apartment building. She’d had too much, and concentration slipped from her grasp. She couldn’t hang on any longer. Hiram might find her like this. She wouldn’t be in her own mind when he did. Humming emerged from her throat, mixed with giggles. Nothing was funny, but everything was.
Let Hiram come and kill her.
Let the world end.
Baby
BEADS OF SWEAT ran down Loxley’s hot back. The air was close inside her bedclothes cocoon – a sharp contrast to the chill of her apartment. The stagnant taste of her breath smothered her, and she heard her own blood rushing through her ears. She didn’t remember coming into her building, nor did she remember wrapping herself up in her mother’s thick comforter. She was naked; she often used to wake up this way as a child.
You can stay in there as long as you like, Loxie. I’m going to go to work now, okay? You don’t leave here.
“Okay, momma,” she said, her words loud and muffled. She clutched her knees tighter to her chest. Her throat hurt, and she said it a little louder, just to be heard.
A syrupy trail of blood ran from her right ear, and she couldn’t hear anything out of it. She began to rock herself, and all of her aches and pains came rushing to the surface. She continued in spite of her body’s complaints, and the soothing sway calmed her. Her stomach churned in the oppressive heat. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours?
There came the sound of footsteps, and a key sliding into her deadbolt. The noise pressed on her like the tip of an icepick.
Loxley’s lips trembled, and her breath quickened. She covered her mouth to stop the hum, and her knees knocked together as she shivered. Maybe she misheard, and it was her neighbor’s lock. She became as still as possible as she listened for any more noises beyond.
A sharp bang pierced the air, and Loxley gave a short shriek. It hadn’t been a gunshot, more like a mallet. She heard men’s laughter and several muffled voices outside. She hugged herself as tightly as she could, willing her rabbit heart to stop throbbing.
Another bang, and her lock jiggled. Then another bang, and she heard the deadbolt unlock. The doorknob turned, grinding against the striking plate before the door creaked open.
“This is definitely the place,” came Hiram’s voice. “See what I mean?”
“You want to just do her here?”
“Nah. He said he wanted to talk to her.”
Silence settled over the room, leaving Loxley to quiver in her comforter. She felt faint.
“Do you seriously think I can’t see you?” asked Hiram. “Now get out of there, or you’re going to get the everliving shit beaten out of you, Loxley Fiddleback.”
She peeled away the top of her covering, cold air rushing inside to make her shiver. Three men stood in her apartment, each carrying a shiny, silver pistol. She looked the guns straight down the barrels, as though she was looking into their eyes. Maybe the guns were holding their owners. She imagined the guns trying to load themselves, and she chuckled.
“That’s freaky, man,” said one of the men, and she snapped back to reality. He had stern lips, all gathered at the center in a pucker.
“How did you find me?” she asked Hiram.
“You think there are a lot of retards around here? I just had to ask around for your name.”
She pulled the comforter tighter. “I’m not retarded.”
He stepped closer. “Do I look like I care? Get the fuck out here.”
She pushed the comforter from her body and stepped, legs shaking, onto the cold, cement floor. She wrapped her arms around herself to hold in the heat, and her teeth chattered. Her legs itched, and she shuffled from one foot to the other, scratching herself with her toes. When she looked back upon the bed, she saw
dozens of scarlet strokes lining the bedclothes – blood, from her many cuts.
Loxley’s comforter was supposed to be white, but this one was speckled, like a cuckoo’s egg deposited in her bed. She leaned over to see that her mother’s place upon the mattress still lay untouched. The alien anxiety that had plagued her since she’d woken up swept over her again. The strange reality had begun to mutate her bedroom, as well. Soon, it would reach her garden.
Hiram slapped her hard enough to turn her head. “Pay attention! Jesus Christ, I’ve been talking to you for five minutes!”
She rubbed her cheek. “Sorry, Mister Hiram.”
“First, you’re going to get some clothes on. Then, you’re going to tell me why you know my name.”
She hadn’t thought before speaking his name. She’d been so distracted by the bed. “No. You’re just going to kill me.”
“Is that a good reason to annoy the piss out of me?” he asked, pressing the gun to her scalp. “Now, either you get dressed, or I let these boys do their favorite thing in the world to you.”
She looked up at Hiram, meeting his gaze. “What’s their favorite thing in the world?”
“They like to stick it in girls like you. Just get your goddamned clothes on.”
Loxley did as he bade her and pulled on her ruined garments. They felt crusty with sweat, and they were cold. The men with Hiram raised their weapons after she had covered herself.
“I’m guessing you ain’t got anything better,” said Hiram.
“No. These are my best coveralls.”
The other men snickered, and Hiram shook his head. “You need a dress or something.”
“Coveralls are better than dresses. Can’t work in a dress.”
“Whatever, creepy.” He gestured to the door. “We got a car to catch, so let’s go.”
He took her hair and shoved her in the direction of the hallway. She resisted, stumbling back toward him, only to be rewarded with a painful blow to the back of her neck. She cried out and fell to the ground, clutching her head. The ants were all over her now, and her fingers were on fire.
“You’re just going to kill me if I come with you!” she screamed, her head throbbing.
Hiram locked back the hammer. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t. Now let me ask you what’s better: living some or living none?”
Loxley focused on the question over the roaring static trying to flood her brain. Reluctantly, she rose to her feet.
“Good girl. As long as you’re alive, you’ve always got something, right?”
She didn’t answer. He shoved her out into the hallway and holstered his weapon; Pucker-lips and the other man followed suit. Hiram grabbed her by the arm, his grip rough and angry, and began to lead her toward the stairs. Neighbors peered out through the cracks in their doors, curious about all the screaming. It was the most attention Loxley had ever received. Birdie stepped out into the hallway, her arms folded, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but please stay back,” called Hiram. “This one is dangerous.”
“Where are you taking her?” asked Birdie, pulling the cigarette away.
“Gardendale, miss, where she’ll be comfortable and safe.” He let go of Loxley’s arm to approach Birdie, and Pucker-lips took his place.
Gardendale was a sanitarium on the third ring. For much of her life, people had talked about sending Loxley there so she could “be with her own kind.” Birdie often threatened to check her into the institution, which was one of the few government buildings in the Hole. Loxley wondered if they really would take her there and lock her up.
Birdie folded her arms. “Bullshit. You got some kind of identification?”
“Don’t need any. Step aside. This girl is dangerous, and I don’t want you getting too close.”
“That sweet girl ain’t ever hurt a fly. Take another step and I’m calling the cops.”
Hot tears welled in Loxley’s eyes. “They’re going to kill me,” she said, her voice catching.
The round woman shook her head. “No they’re not, dear. They’re not going to leave this building, or there’s going to be trouble.”
Hiram gestured to Loxley. “Do you see all that blood on her, ma’am? Not all of that’s hers. She’s been up to Edgewood, and she hurt a man pretty bad. Now can you honestly say that you didn’t see that coming? We get this in Gardendale all the time – orderlies get too comfortable with our patients, and then they get hurt or killed for it. Do you want to take that chance for yourself? For your community?”
Birdie seemed less angry when he said that, but Loxley noticed something else: the men flanking her rested their hands on their holstered pistols. Hiram had a polite smile on his face, but his fingers also hovered inches from his weapon. Birdie was trying to look into Hiram’s eyes, but she should have been looking at his hands; she would have seen the truth there.
“I think she’s a perfectly good kid,” stammered Birdie, cutting a glance to Loxley.
“You think, but you don’t know? Listen, lady, you may not be sure, but I am. I’ve seen a thousand cases just like hers; one minute, they’re fine, and the next, they’re wild dogs. Have you ever seen her exhibit repetitive, nonsense behaviors?”
Loxley started to talk, and Pucker-lips squeezed her shoulder so hard she gasped.
“Have you ever seen her act against her own best interests? Have you ever found her to be inaccessible or vacant? I’m sure I already know the answers.” Hiram gestured to Loxley. “I don’t think Loxley wants anyone to get hurt. I think she’s really smart, and she understands that she could drag you into her problems if she stays here. What do you say, Loxley? Don’t you care about your neighbors?”
She looked between him and Birdie, eyes wide and burning. Her neighbor appeared confused, as though she couldn’t see through Hiram’s ruse. Perhaps she couldn’t. Hiram had made the choice clear, though: either leave voluntarily, or he would harm Birdie.
We don’t hit people. It’s wrong to hurt others, Loxie. It’s only okay to hurt someone if they are hurting you.
“Just let them take her!” called one of the other tenants from his door down the hall. “Those guys are trying to help her!”
“Go fuck yourself, Norman!” Birdie shouted back before jabbing Hiram in the chest with her finger. “You leave her here and bring back some goddamned identification. I don’t want to see your face unless there’s an ambulance waiting outside to pick her up.”
“That’s not an option, ma’am. We’re going to take her today whether you believe us or not.”
“Over my dead body you are!”
The third kidnapper turned to face down the hallway. They were going to shoot their way out. The round woman would be the first.
“I care about my neighbors,” whispered Loxley.
“What was that, honey?” asked Birdie.
Loxley straightened up and sniffled. “I care about my neighbors. I want them to be happy. They won’t be happy while I’m here.”
A wide grin spread across Hiram’s face, and he pulled out a tin of mints before popping one into his mouth and crunching it. “There you have it, ma’am.”
Birdie reached out and touched her face. “Honey, are you sure?”
Loxley’s fingers and feet burned. Her heart thundered, and her breath felt short. She couldn’t have felt less sure about anything. Still, she was worthless, disliked and weak. Officer Crutchfield had proven that to her. Everyone would be mad if something happened to Birdie, but no one would miss Loxley. “I care about my neighbors,” she repeated.
The big woman gave her a warm, smothering hug, and Loxley wanted to shove her away – too much touching. She couldn’t breathe, wrapped up in those arms. She stamped her feet and flapped her fingers, and her neighbor released her. With the sudden ease of her burden, clarity and calm returned momentarily to Loxley.
“Oh, God,” said Birdie. “I hope they can help you.”
“They’re not here to help me,” said Loxle
y. “They’re here to take me away. You’re never going to see me again, and you can be happy about that because you don’t much like me.”
Her neighbor wiped her nose. “Don’t say that, now.”
“It’s the truth. Thanks for the stuff I took out of your trash. Especially the banana peels.”
Without another word, the men led her downstairs and to the front drive, where a waiting limousine idled. They shoved her inside, banging her head against the door frame. She sat down on the rear bench and found the ever-smiling Duke Wallace at the far end. The others piled in after – Hiram across from her and his two men on either side.
Most places in Loxley’s life had been touched by rust and ruin, but the inside of Duke’s limousine was clean as a whistle. It had many gaudy details, such as the embroidered crosses, but she felt considerably more level atop its smooth leather seats. Duke’s suit was an extension of the limousine, blending into it like they’d been cut from the same animal.
“Fiddleback is a strange name,” said Duke. Everyone always said that to her.
“I chose it for myself. It’s a spider that likes to be alone.”
“And a dangerous one, too. One of them bit my maid last year. Lost a melon-sized chunk of her leg. Do you bite, Miss Fiddleback?”
“I bite my food.”
Duke snickered. “I don’t doubt it. Hiram has told me a lot of interesting things about you.” He knocked on the window to the driver’s cabin, and it cracked a bit. “Bellebrook, Marie.” The window snapped shut. “He told me you said you were going to kill him for the death of your best friend.”
She must have been bundled up in her bed for hours, giving them the chance to track her down.
