Every Part of the Animal

by Duncan Ralston

  Time crawled as she waited for the vehicle to pass. Finally, lights caught the rock in silhouette. Thirty more seconds passed, and the cold white halogens swished past in a flurry of crunching gravel.

  Bo waited until the taillights were pinpricks in the rearview, then flicked on her running lights and pulled out onto the road.

  She was at her destination in no time, and with no further interruptions. Bo braked, got out of the truck, and unhooked the chain from the Escalade. With her fingers covered by her shirt, she opened the driver door, and reset the transmission to Drive.

  Now came the tricky part. She almost regretted coming out all this way simply because staging the crash here would take a bit of finesse, and far more patience than she had in her reserves as the time edged steadily toward midnight.

  Tomorrow would be rough. But then she hadn't expected it to be a cake walk, considering the identity of the girl she had tied up in a chair back at the house.

  If this next part went smoothly, she'd be free and clear until she figured out what the heck to do next.

  With a three point turn in the wide gravel road, she eased the truck close so its left headlight was lined up with the Escalade's right rear light. Hoping that, like striking a pool ball hard on its right side, it would nudge the damaged car to the left and into the limestone shelf.

  She reversed until her bumper tapped the other side of the rock cut.

  Then she floored it.

  The truck struck the Escalade high on its bumper. The SUV lurched toward the left as Bo braked. It pitched headlong into the ditch and slammed into an outcrop of solid black limestone.

  Bo laughed.

  She climbed out of the truck and approached the crash. Knelt in close where the truck had struck the Escalade, and rubbed away a few flecks of red paint, leaving a minor ding she hoped no one would notice.

  She climbed down the steep ditch, and opened the passenger door, pushing aside brambly raspberry bushes. Grabbed the keys with her shirt sleeve, and tossed them a ways down the ditch. Left the door open. Kicked away footprints in dust and weeds, wishing she'd thought to bring the girl's heels along to make marks in the mud, but oh well. Couldn't think of everything.

  Back on the road, she kicked the loose gravel her tires had disrupted when she'd stepped on the gas.

  From the road, nothing of the crash was visible. Unless someone happened to come along picking berries or trash, no one would spot it until they really started looking.

  Don't get cocky, Bo. Still got a few hurdles to jump yet.

  Ten minutes later, she was turning right onto her two-rut drive.

  CALEB AWOKE TO muffled screams.

  He'd sat up listening to Rainey Layne and his mother fight until Momma kicked her out and the singer drove off. He'd wanted to go to the window and watch Rainey leave, but Momma had been out there a long time—he'd heard her grunting and cursing under her breath—and he didn't want to get caught spying. And anyway, the floor was creaky with enough hand-me-down toys and school books strewn everywhere that he was sure his mother would hear him if he got up and went to the window. So he stayed in bed, still wishing he'd acted cooler and Momma hadn't babied him in front of Rainey, until the pop superstar drove off.

  Then he'd drifted off to sleep, the image of her bright pink bikini top burned onto his retinas.

  Now, the screaming.

  Lying in the dark bedroom, everything gray and fuzzy, the sound chilled him right to his bones.

  "Momma…?" he called out, wary of waking her, even if she was having a nightmare.

  He listened. The house creaked.

  Another scream filled the silence. Wood thumped against wood.

  Caleb peeled back the sheet. He reached blindly in the dark for his flashlight on the bedside table. Found his watch, and flicked on the flashlight briefly. Almost eleven. They'd been up early hunting wolves, Momma teaching him how to bow shoot. Getting better, she said. Someday, he hoped to be able to make a kill shot on his first try.

  As he stepped out of bed, the floorboard creaked underfoot. He paused, heart hammering, listening to the frogs chirp out in the woods.

  No sound came from inside the house.

  Caleb lowered his full weight to the floor, and gingerly navigated the minefield, able to pick out their dark outlines on the floor now his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He crept to the door, twisted the knob, and pulled.

  The door stuck.

  Lock rattling.

  Locked from the outside, the way Momma only did when she was mad at him and she couldn't stand to look at him anymore. When she punished him for asking too many stupid questions, like "Why can't I go to school like a normal kid?" or "How come we don't get a TV?" or the worst question of all, at least according to how Momma reacted to it, "When's Daddy gonna come back?"

  Even though his daddy sat around drinking most of the day after he got let go at the silver mine, and sometimes he got mad enough to give him a good wallop, Caleb still missed him.

  But Momma didn't want to hear none of that.

  The scream again. Muffled. High-pitched and guttural. Sounded painful. Like it hurt her throat.

  And he couldn't escape the fact it didn't sound at all like his Momma.

  Caleb rattled the door. So many times he'd tried to unlatch it from inside and failed. He knew he couldn't get out without busting the lock. He'd also been locked in his room overnight enough times to know his mother wouldn't come to check on him until morning. Those long nights, he'd sometimes creep out his window and walk down the road to look at the stars in the clearing and throw rocks in the pond, watching the ripples reflect cold moonlight.

  He weaved over the floor mess to the window. Unlatched it, and gently raised the pane.

  Then he slipped out into the cool night air in his pajamas.

  Padding crouched over stones and pine needles in his bare feet, wincing with every second step, praying not to step on a piece of wood and get a splinter, Caleb kept his eyes on the window of the main house. The oil lamp gave off a faded orange glow. Was she still awake? Screaming to herself in the kitchen? He knew she'd been mad, that Rainey had ruffled her feathers—the way Daddy used to—but he couldn't imagine her sitting up awake so late, screaming into a fist.

  And if she was, well… that was a problem he might need to address.

  Caleb crept to the big window, grasped the frame, and slowly rose to peer through the dingy glass.

  He ducked down, heart racing.

  A figure sat at the table, facing the window. Draped in a black shroud, head slumped.

  That ain't Momma…

  Who was it then? And why was he sleeping at the table? Too small to be his daddy. From the build, it looked to be a boy a few years older than him.

  The front yard was empty. Momma must have gone for a late drive, something she sometimes did when she was mad. He hoped she wasn't mad at him for not arguing. Wasn't his fault his stomach hurt. Something he ate.

  Caleb peeked through the window again.

  The figure shook, the chair thumping against the floorboards.

  Startled, he fell back onto his bottom, raising a cloud of dirt.

  Who the heck is that? What the heck is that?

  Out here in the dark, the scream curdled his blood.

  Curiosity got him to his feet and moving toward the front door, damn the fear. He thumbed the latch and pulled, but found it locked too.

  "Piss…"

  Lights flickered through the trees. For some strange reason his mind seized on flashlights. Men in the dark. Bad men. Coming to take him away from his Momma.

  He shook away the thought, squinting into the dark woods, down the two-rut drive.

  Two lights, moving in tandem.

  Truck lights.

  Momma's truck.

  Caleb scurried back to his window, and climbed through headfirst. His palms pressed down on hard plastic and he grunted, holding back a pained gasp. His feet came down with two loud creaks, but he was no longer worried about
waking up Momma. Not now that he knew she'd been out night driving.

  Who's in the house then? Why is he strugglin?

  Or she.

  His memory flashed on the soft mounds of flesh pushed up by her pink bikini top. His mother asking him to get his oversized black sweater. Her snatching it from him and putting it on Rainey's shoulders.

  Rainey.

  The truck lunged over a dip and passed by the bur oak. Seconds from the house. Caleb jerked the window down a split second before the headlights illuminated the house.

  He scurried back into bed and drew up the covers.

  "Oh God, Momma… what did you do?"

  5 – Body

  BO JUMPED DOWN from the cab and strode confidently to the front door, satisfied with a job well done. Hoping to catch a few winks before morning.

  She shined her flashlight in short bursts, checking the dirt for signs of a struggle. Blood. Footprints. It all needed to be erased before she could even think about sleep.

  In the third flash she caught sight of small prints. Bare feet. Moving around the front door. She held the light on for several seconds, blocking the beam from spreading too wide and potentially waking Caleb.

  A small butt print, bracketed by two palms, right by her feet.

  Bo hurried to the door, used her key. It took every ounce of patience to pull it open slowly and avoid the loud twang of the spring. She stepped in and closed the door gently behind her, already so certain the girl had somehow gotten free that when she saw her still tied to the chair, she startled.

  Rainey moaned into her gag. Sound like a dying animal. Almost made Bo feel sorry for her.

  Almost, but not quite.

  She removed Caleb's sweater. Rainey looked up at her with blackened, tear-streaked eyes. Her nose obliterated. The whole lower half of her face covered in crusted blood. She shook the chair, raising all four legs off the floor repeatedly, the trapdoor thumping like a drum.

  Bo grabbed her shoulders, repeating "Stop it," until the struggling subsided.

  The girl wept up at her.

  Bo ignored her, checked the knots. They seemed secure. She bent in close, studying the girl's eyes.

  "You been out of the house?"

  Rainey looked at her as if she'd lost her damn mind.

  "No," Bo said, shaking her head. "You been a good girl, haven't you? You stay being a good girl and maybe I'll let you go."

  Rainey's wet eyes filled with hope.

  "You gonna stay quiet?"

  She nodded.

  "All right, then. I'm gonna go back outside a minute. Don't you start bouncing around again. This ain't a music video."

  Bo left her. Grabbed the heavy broom from the closest, and took it outside. She stood it against the door, and flicked on the flashlight, cupping the beam. Followed the trail of bare feet toward Caleb's window.

  Should've known he'd get out, Bo.

  She knew he'd been wandering those nights she locked him in, when life had gotten her so down she couldn't bear to look at him. A gut feeling. She'd thought about getting a lock put in on his window, but if letting him wander gave him the illusion of freedom, she was sure he'd rebel if she had.

  She hadn't been thinking straight when she left the house. Caleb climbing out his window had been the least of her worries.

  Oh well. Not like he wasn't going to find out tomorrow. Probably heard the hubbub under his damn door, anyhow.

  Bo pushed the broom through the dirt and stones and dead pine needles, clearing her mind as she swept away the evidence, relishing the feel of getting work done. When she was finished, she returned to the house. Put the broom back in the closet, and walked right by Rainey Layne—who locked eyes with her through her reflection in the darkened windowpane—to Caleb's door.

  She stood outside the door a long moment. Thinking of how to explain herself. She wouldn't even know how to explain it if she tried. The whole situation had spiraled out of control, leaving her with no other choice.

  Her heart physically hurt at the thought of them taking Caleb away from her.

  Bo unlocked the door and opened it. A triangle of lamplight illuminated the room. Caleb was in bed. Eyes closed, but not sleeping. Breathing fast, as if she'd almost caught him.

  Standing in the doorway, Bo waited for him to open his eyes and acknowledge her presence. After maybe thirty seconds, she said, "We'll talk in the morning."

  She closed the door, and drew the bolt.

  Back at the table, Rainey watched with wide-eyed suspicion as Bo dragged a chair in close. At the broom closet, she grabbed the .22 and laid it on the table, out of Rainey's reach. Rainey stared at the rifle as Bo sat facing her.

  "You've probably sobered up some and wondered why the hell I've got you here tied to a chair. Tomorrow, you and I are going to have a chat about that. But for now, I want to establish something: I am not your enemy. If you play straight with me, we'll make this right." She scooched in closer. "But if you play games, if you threaten me or my boy again… well, then we've got a problem."

  Rainey's eyes narrowed.

  "Do you understand?"

  Breathing hard through her plugged nostrils.

  "Nod and show me you understand."

  Begrudgingly, the girl nodded.

  "Okay then. Let's get some sleep."

  Bo moved the chair back so she sat next to the rifle. She crossed her arms over her chest. Sat listening to the frogs sing and the night bugs chirp. Her eyes grew heavy. She tried to keep them from shutting, but it was a losing battle. The last thing she saw before she fell asleep was the terror in Rainey Layne's battered and bruised face, and she thought, What have I done?

  BO SNAPPED AWAKE to the sound of crackling gravel.

  Rainey was already staring at her with a mixture of hope and terror.

  Bo snatched the rifle and shot to her feet, a bolt of pain seizing her legs, cramped from sleeping in the chair. She staggered to the window as the visitor drew up to the front, brakes squealing.

  The sun shone devil rays into her eyes from above the trees. She must have slept beyond nine for the first time in ages. She blinked hard, wiping away sleep dust, and stared out into the front yard.

  A dirty, wide-cab sedan idled beside the truck. Windows tinted. The left front end lower than the rest, as if the driver were weighing it down.

  "Momma?" Caleb's sleepy voice from behind the bedroom door.

  "Stay where you are, Caleb. And stay away from the window."

  Bo returned to Rainey, raising the .22 in one hand. "If you scream, if you struggle, I will put this between your eyes and pull the trigger. Now it might not kill you right away, but I have a feeling maybe that's worse than death."

  Rainey drew back her head, blue eyes widening.

  "You gonna struggle?"

  Rainey shook her head. Dried blood flaked off her chin onto her bikini top.

  "Good," Bo said.

  She grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it off of the trapdoor. Pulled the loose board aside, and raised the hatch. The damp, cool smell of dirt wafted out of the root cellar.

  Rainey shook her head violently, realizing what Bo had in mind.

  "You promised me, Rainey," she said, raising the barrel. "I'm gonna untie you now, but you gotta be quiet."

  The girl motioned with her head. A plea.

  "What? You scared?"

  A nod.

  "Nothing to be scared about down there, just some canned goods and cobwebs."

  Her eyes widened. Bo began to untie her. Outside, she heard the car door sensor ding. As she loosened the knot holding Rainey's hands to her feet, the door slammed shut.

  Seconds until he was at the door.

  Her only hope that the brightness outside made it difficult to see through the window. Untying Rainey's fawnlike ankles from the chair legs, Bo breathed a silent prayer of thanks she hadn't been bothered to wash the glass in a month or more.

  Still tied at the wrists and ankles, the girl squeaked as Bo hoisted her up onto her shou
lder, so quiet she wouldn't have heard it if it hadn't been right in her ear.

  Cooperating. That's good.

  She took the steep stairs, sore legs threatening to buckle. The top of Rainey's head struck the edge of a floorboard, ruffling her blonde hair. She let out another small moan, but that was it.

  Bo set her down in the cool dirt. The girl watched her with pure terror as she backed up the stairs. Snatched the rifle off the floor, and aimed it.

  "Not a peep, you hear me?"

  Nodding, a tear spilled down her cheek.

  Bo lowered the hatch as Darius rapped his knuckles on the door.

  She leaned the rifle against the table, replaced the loose board, put the chair back over the hatch.

  An idea occurred. She took the lid off the penny jar, scooped out a handful of pennies and placed them on the table in front of the chair above the cellar. Another scoop in front of her own. Opened the pack of cards and dealt out five cards each.

  Another rap on the door.

  "Coming!" she said cheerily, and hurried across the living room to Caleb's door. Drew the bolt back, and opened it.

  Caleb stood an inch away, fully dressed, with a look of weary-eyed confusion.

  "Momma, what's—?"

  "No time to explain," she said, grasping his arm above the elbow and drawing him across the room. "I need you to pretend we've been playing cards. Poker face, okay? What you saw last night, I'll explain it as soon as he's gone."

  She sat Caleb in the chair beside Rainey's. Reluctantly, he picked up the cards she'd dealt him. His face registered disappointment, as if they were playing for keeps.

  A shadow moved across the floor as Bo hurried to the door. Darius had moved in front of the window and pressed his nose against the glass, cupping a single hand around his eyes to peer inside. In his other arm, he held the dog with the silly name.

  "Ms. Lowery?" His deep voice muffled through the glass. "I need a word, if you have a minute."

  Bo glanced back at Caleb as he drew some of her pennies across the table to his pile. "Poker face," she reminded him. He gave her a serious nod in reply.