by Tamar Myers
"I am doing my best, dear. Look, why don't we trade places and then you start it yourself. You can even drive if you want to."
She stared at me for an eternity. Maybe she was praying behind those vacant eyes, or maybe she was contemplating what a horrible mess a gaping jugular vein would inflict on her pastel dress.
"We'll sit quietly for a few minutes," she said finally. "If it really is a flooded engine, it'll take care of itself in a few minutes. In the meantime, I suggest you get right with your Maker, Abigail. You're not really saved, you know, or you wouldn't be going to that Catholic church."
"It's Episcopal," I said, and then wisely clamped my lips together as tightly as a clam at low tide.
We sat and sweated in the growing dusk. I kept one eye on Anita and one eye on the rearview mirror. For at least five minutes not a single car passed by on the highway just behind us. Finally the heat inside that metal box got to be too much.
"May I try and start it now?" I asked politely.
"Too early. It's only been a minute."
"May I at least roll my window down."
"You should get used to heat, Abigail. It's a lot hotter where you're going." She raised her hand and pointed the gun at my brain.
I used to pride myself on being a fast thinker. Good mothers need to be, to stay one step ahead of their children, and my children were bright and very inventive. But nothing in my experience had prepared me for brainstorming with a gun barrel kissing my cranium.
"Well, in that case, may I turn on the overhead light so I can read that tract you gave me? I mean, I'd really rather not go to you-know-where."
To her credit, Anita pondered my request, for a moment. I think she was on the verge of relenting, and giving my poor Anglican soul a fighting chance at salvation, when a pair of headlights whizzed by behind us. Whoever it was, was driving so fast, I didn't even have time to lean on the horn. In a few seconds they were a mile down the road.
"Now try and start the car."
I turned the key, and my dammed car started purring like Dmitri when I scratch his chin.
"Now drive."
"Without lights?"
"It's not that dark. I said 'drive.' "
"What if I hit something? A cow, or deer, or something?"
"The Lord will protect me, Abigail."
You don't really have much choice when there is an armed madwoman sitting beside you calling the shots. If I hadn't been wearing a seat belt, I would have flung open the door and thrown myself on the mercy of the dark. Most people are lousy aims, especially if startled, but thanks to the state law, and common sense, I was trussed like a chicken. A virtual sitting duck. By the time I undid my belt and flung open the door, I would be wearing my brains on my shoulders.
Some car manufacturer needs to invent a seat belt release on the door side. That way I could have been steering with my right hand while my left hand surreptitiously undid the strap. On the other hand, maybe not. Anita Morgan had eyes like a hawk, adding credence to her theory that eye makeup is bad for one's vision, not to mention soul.
I drove slowly. On either side of us there were walls of second-growth pines. Fortunately the road, which was really two dirt ruts, was easy to follow by feel. But a couple of times there were sudden jogs that thrust me out of the ruts and damn near the trees. Of course at my speed, and due to the fact that pine wood is relatively soft, we wouldn't have been seriously injured—not that it made a damn bit of difference, since I was probably going to die anyway. On the other hand, I would much rather die in an undented and unscratched car, wouldn't you?
I took a deep breath. "There isn't enough room for a snake to turn around on this road, dear. So, you can put the gun away. I'll continue to follow it as long as you say."
"You think I'm crazy, don't you, Abigail?"
"Of course not, dear," I said generously. Stark, raving mad was probably not the answer she was looking for.
"I'm not, you know. You weren't even a part of my plan, until you butted in."
"Excuse me?"
"Eulonia is gone to her eternal reward, Abigail. It really isn't your business who helped her along."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this."
"I had no intention of involving you, I really didn't. After all, you at least go to church, even though it's not the right one."
"So, it wasn't this Penny woman? It was you?"
"I had to do it, Abigail. I really did."
"You had to murder my aunt?"
She gave me a swift little tap on the noggin with the gun barrel. "Killing is against the Ten Commandments. Carrying out God's will is not."
"God's will for what? Are you saying God wanted my aunt dead?"
"Your aunt had to die, Abigail. That was the easiest way to do it."
"Do what?" I came close to screaming, and Anita rewarded my emotion with another tap on the head.
"God does not suffer homosexuals, Abigail. They are an abomination unto the Lord."
"Aunt Eulonia was not gay."
"But that Rob Goldburg is."
"So?"
"So, he has to be punished, and he would have been, too, if you hadn't butted your nose into it. I had it all set up to look like he killed your aunt."
"Why didn't you just kill him directly? Why involve my aunt?"
She snorted again. "Killing was too good for Rob Goldburg. Not unless we could do it like in the Bible. You know, stone him?"
"Stone him?"
"They stoned homosexuals in the Bible, Abigail. Adulteresses, too."
"I have never slept with anyone besides Buford." I said quickly. You may think it's sad, but its true.
Anita sighed. "Too bad the law don't allow stoning anymore. But, the way I figured it, life imprisonment was the best substitute."
"But what did my aunt do? She did not have an affair with Tony D'Angelo, and I can prove it."
"Your aunt had to die because the Lord doesn't suffer fools, and your aunt was a fool. Your aunt had something valuable that the Lord could use to further his work here on earth, but she wasn't doing anything with it. Besides, she had lived her three score and ten years, like the Bible says. Now that your aunt is gone, I'll be able to put that precious treasure to the Lord's use. You understand, don't you?"
"It's as clear as mud, dear."
"Are you mocking me, Abigail?"
My head was too sore to suffer a third blow. "No, dear, I'm not mocking you. However, I have a hard time understanding how the Bible justifies what you did."
"You read the Old Testament, Abigail?"
"You mean the Psalms?"
"I mean Leviticus. It's very clear that God hates homosexuals."
I let that go temporarily. "But little old ladies with messy shops?"
"At various time God's people have been commanded to kill many little old ladies. Children, too. God has plans, you know, and your aunt was just a part of one."
"Killing my aunt was part of God's plan?"
She gave me a pitying laugh. "If you Episcopalians read your Bible, you would know exactly what I mean. Of course, now it looks like you won't be getting a chance to read it at all."
"I do read my Bible."
"The King James Bible?"
"There are other good translations."
"There is only one real Bible, Abigail, the one God dictated to his people. The one you call King James."
"Did God dictate it to King James, in English?" I asked. I wasn't trying to be a smart-ass; I was trying to stall.
She snorted angrily and I cringed. "Of course not. God dictated the Bible to the disciples and the apostles, and of course it was in English. Sure it's a little difficult to read, but if you spent more time with it, you could sort it out."
I racked my brain, trying to recall one of my college courses. "What would you say if I could prove that English didn't even exist until a thousand years after the apostles?"
"Get behind me, Satan!"
"Okay, let's say you're right and the Bible was dictated in E
nglish. I don't recall any passages about—"
"I said, 'Get behind me, Satan.' I will not have you tempting me, Lucifer."
I drove on in silence, a prayerful silence. I don't remember how long it took, but I saw in the rearview mirror that the moon was beginning to rise above the trees behind us, and I took that as an answer to my prayers. I know this is going to sound silly, but I don't want to die in the dark. Not the pitch blackness of a pine forest, at any rate.
After I'd driven about a mile following my moon sighting, Anita tapped me on the head one last time.
"Stop right here."
"And you stop hitting me," I screamed. "Shoot me if you want to, but quit hitting me on the head with that goddamn thing!"
"My, aren't we touchy! I was just about to do the Christian thing, Abigail, and offer you a chance to pray. But, since you took the Lord's name in vain, I think I'll pass."
"I'm sorry, Anita. I'll take that chance to pray."
"It's God you have to apologize to, Abigail."
"I'm sorry, God. I really am."
We sat in silence while God and Anita mulled my apology over. A pair of barred owls hooted, one on each side of the car. I remembered old Westerns I'd seen as a kid where the Indians, who were always on the warpath, and who were always sneaking up on settlers, hooted like owls to communicate with each other. The settlers were always fooled. Maybe the hoots I heard were really Indians and not barred owls after all. I would rather take my chances at the hands of a handsome brave than remain in the clutches of a crazed woman with a beehive hairdo who was on a religious warpath.
"The Lord says you have to get out of the car, Abigail. He wants you to kneel when you pray."
"Fine." I was anxious to do God's bidding and immediately reached to undo my belt.
The gun nuzzled, rather than tapped me. Anita was learning.
"Don't you get any ideas, Abigail. I'm an excellent shot."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You think I'm kidding, don't you?"
"No, ma'am."
"I used to practice shooting at trees. Shotguns, rifles, handguns, I learned to shoot them all. Every day I'd practice until I was as good as my brothers. I can hit a squirrel three hundred yards away."
"In Charlotte?"
She cackled. "No, here. Right here. This here was my Daddy's land. All of it—all these woods we've been driving through. We used to live in a cabin up the road a piece, until Mama died. Then Daddy sold the land to a lumber company and moved us all to Charlotte. I was fifteen then."
"This land's been reforested since then, hasn't it?" I asked casually.
"Ha! Don't you be getting any ideas, Abigail. The trees have changed, but the land hasn't. I know this place like the back of my hand. If you try and get away from me, I'll shoot you like a squirrel. Only I won't skin and eat you."
Suddenly I was content to stay where I was. "I've never eaten squirrel," I said brightly.
"Then you've only lived half a life, Abigail. City folks think country folks eat squirrel because they're poor. Truth is, it's right tasty."
"I had rabbit in a French restaurant, once. It was good."
"Rabbit is okay, but nothing can beat squirrel, unless it's possum."
"I had ostrich Wednesday night."
"Ostrich?"
She sounded genuinely interested so I decided to run with it. "Ostrich casserole. Tasted a little like beef. Maybe more like veal. Very low in cholesterol, you know."
"Where?"
"Rob Goldburg—"
"Aha! So you eat with them, too!"
"Jesus ate with everyone."
"Don't you quote the Bible to me, Abigail. You don't even have the right version."
"He ate with them in the King James version, too, dear."
"Jesus did not eat with homosexuals!"
Unfortunately I was riled. "How do we know? The Bible doesn't state their sexual preference. For all we know, Jesus himself might have—"
"That does it! You get out of this car this instant. And remember, I can and will shoot you if you try and get away."
I undid my seat belt and opened my door in slow motion. I slid out an inch at a time. I regret to say that I had to leave both my purse and my car keys behind. Unfortunately Anita is a thin, agile woman, and even though I have bucket seats, she was able to move right along with me. The gun never lost contact with my hair.
"Now kneel. I'm going to give you one minute to pray."
My first prayer was that I wasn't kneeling in fire ants. Those foreign invaders are more vicious than killer bees. Fortunately they weren't mentioned in any version of the Bible that I'm aware of, or Anita might purposefully have had me kneel in those.
I'm not claiming that God spoke to me, but as I was praying for deliverance from Anita, a thought popped into my head. Since it was my nose and my tongue that had gotten me into the predicament, perhaps the same things could get me out.
"So, you plan to shoot me, do you? Well, then what? The next time loggers come up here, or even hunters pass by, they'll find me. Nowadays police can trace bullets, you know."
"Oh, I ain't going to shoot you. As soon as you're done praying, we're taking a little walk. You about done yet?"
"No ma'am, I have a lot of sins to confess."
"I expect you do. Say them fast, 'cause it's fixing to rain."
The woman was turning more corners than a blind man in a carnival fun house. "The moon's out, Anita."
"Not anymore it ain't. I been praying for rain, and the Lord is about to answer."
I wasted a few precious seconds glancing around. She was right. The moon was a thin silver streak and fading fast. The trees, which had been individual shapes, were one black mass again.
I started praying in earnest.
"Ain't you done yet?"
"I've been a wicked woman," I wailed.
She generously gave me a few more seconds. "All right, now get up and do exactly as I say."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Is that sass I'm hearing in your voice, Abigail?"
"No ma'am."
Anita grabbed a hank of my hair and wrapped it painfully around her fist.
"Walk straight ahead, Abigail. Keep walking straight, no matter what, till I tell you different."
I walked dead straight ahead. Just when I thought I was going to hit a tree, it appeared to jump aside. I must have gasped.
"It's a trail," Anita cackled. "Brandt and I came up here hunting over Thanksgiving. Sometimes things don't change as much as you think they do. The loggers might have cut the trees down that was here when I was a child, but they didn't change the trail none when they planted new ones. Dirt's packed down too hard."
If you can imagine me as a horse, and my hair as the bridle, Anita, with the help of her gun, steered me through the pine forest in pitch blackness. We were a clumsy team, but we covered ground surprisingly fast, even though most of the time it felt as if we were walking uphill. I tried to sense and remember any changes in my environment; the feel of a rock beneath my feet, the smell of a rotting log, but it was all hopeless. The darkness was so intense that even had I been able to overpower Anita, I would never have been able to follow the trail back to my car.
It felt like we had gone about a mile when Anita cruelly jerked me to a stop.
"This is it, Abigail; this is where you die. Are you prepared to meet your maker?"
"Wait! Can I say good-bye first?"
"Good-bye."
"Not to you. To my family."
She grunted. I took it as permission, although it could have been because of the sudden splatter of raindrops.
"Good-bye Susan, good-bye Charlie, good-bye Mama, good-bye Aunt Marilyn, good-bye Dmitri, good-bye Buford—"
"Enough! Buford isn't your family anymore."
The bottom fell out of the clouds and a million tons of water dumped on us all at once.
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow," Anita sang. "You see, Abigail, I told you I was praying for rain."
It
was hard to hear a blessed thing. "What?"
"The rain will wash away your blood. The Lord has truly answered my prayers. Make sure your eyes are closed, Abigail. I don't want to shoot you with your eyes open."
Try thinking of a way to distract a madwoman with a gun, who has you by the hair, in the middle of a pitch-black forest in a downpour. If you can think of any better ways please send them to me in care of the Den of Antiquity, Charlotte, North Carolina.
"You didn't tell me yet how killing my aunt was going to help the Lord!" I shouted.
"Your aunt had earthly riches!" That's what it sounded like. Of course she could have been saying that Aunt Euey had earthy itches, in which case Tony might have been lying after all.
"What kind of riches?"
"Mould-bread face!"
So what's a little name calling when you are about to die? I may as well give tit for tat.
"You slime-sucking, sourpuss Holy Roller bitch!"
Anita did not get to hear all of my epithet, because a bolt of lightning hit a pine tree less than fifty feet away. For a split second the tree and surrounding area were lit up like a football field on game night. The lightning acted as a giant knife, splitting the tree down the middle for a third of its length. At that point the lightning appeared to gather itself into a ball and roll down the rest of the way until it hit the ground, where it didn't stop. It was headed right for us.
In the brief time it took for this to happen, I could feel Anita let go of my hair. One of the few advantages of being so short is that when I need to take a fall, I don't have far to go. I was able to throw myself on the ground and roll away from Anita before she had time to react. When she did react, it was to the lightning ball, not to me. Fortunately for her, she was apparently able to dodge the ball.
I say apparently, because suddenly we were plunged into total darkness again. I did have an image of Anita flinging herself out of harm's way, but I am ashamed to say that I didn't bother to find out if indeed this happened. Instead of sticking around and acting like the Good Samaritan I pretend to be, I took off into the woods like a deer spooked by hunters. Of course, I was much clumsier than a deer and made more noise than an elephant in a chime shop. I also inflicted a good deal of bodily harm to myself by thrashing through the woods willy-nilly.
