by Harvey, Red
“Yes ma’am.” Strawberry nodded her head now.
“Have a good night, drive safe.”
“I will. You too, ma’am.”
She waited until the cop car drove away before starting the truck engine.
“Whew.” Strawberry let out a long breath. Then she laughed.
Ashley was relieved too, but she didn’t feel like laughing. She wanted to know what was so funny.
“She…” Strawberry was laughing and couldn’t speak. “She thought you were my daughter!”
Even in semi-normal clothes, she didn’t look old enough to be Ashley’s.
Ashley grinned. She wouldn’t allow herself to laugh. On the night she lost her family, laughing didn’t seem appropriate. She could admit Strawberry was right, as she had been various times.
It was a little bit funny.
****
August 11th
Well, shoot.
When you’re trapped in a basement with strangers, dirty laundry is bound to air itself.
For Michael and Louise, whole steaming heaps of their unmentionables have been flung around.
Ever since Louise’s Peter/Ryan mix-up, Michael’s been looking at his wife differently. There’s not a whole lot of love in his stares either.
They hide in the bathroom to try and make their blow-outs more private, but everyone can hear. I try not to listen, but with all the yelling and eff words, it’s hard not to. Ever the Nosey-Nancy, Erin perks up her ears anytime the couple takes their fights to the loo. Ha-ha, loo.
Anyway, this afternoon, Michael and Louise had a major loo-fight. Plenty of yelling going back and forth, so I’ll skip to the important parts. The sad parts, really.
I heard Louise say, “I’m sorry. Please, don’t.”
Michael: “God, I knew. I knew.”
Louise: “I was lonely. That’s no excuse, but you were always working so late.”
“Yeah, but Ryan? My best friend?”
Crying, and then, “I’m sorry. Please. After everything, don’t turn away from me. All we have is each other. Please.”
Michael scoffed. Or coughed. Not sure. “All you have is yourself.” He walked out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Louise didn't come out. She stayed in the bathroom for a couple of hours, until Erin knocked to ask if she was all right.
When the door opened, Louise tried to down-play her puffy cry-eyes by smiling at us, but we all knew.
* * * *
9
September 2nd
Don’t feel neglected, ‘o journal of mine. I know it’s been a few weeks since I’ve written anything. Life feels gray. My dad used to say that when things got depressing. Life feels gray.
I put too much of my hope in Michael and Louise. The happiness I felt was borrowed, and now it’s gone.
They haven’t spoken to one another in awhile. What’s worse is Louise isn’t really speakin’ to anybody. Erin and I have tried to say hello, but she stares through us like our mama and daddy were glass-makers.
Michael and Erin are talking every day. Sure, they’ve always been friends, but they’re actin’ funny. While he speaks to her, Erin’s twiddles her hair and smiles like an idiot. Michael smiles like an idiot too.
They’re acting like there’s two teenagers down here instead of one. But there’s more to it than that.
The whole thing makes my stomach squirm. Must make Louise just as sick, ‘cause she hasn’t been eating. Gruel doesn’t motivate much of an appetite, but it does when there’s nothin’ else to eat.
I think Louise has reached what my mom used to call a dangerous place. When I was in trouble, or I couldn’t seem to get my ish straight, my mom would tell me, Son, you’re in a dangerous place. You better see yourself out. Louise doesn’t wanna see herself outta anywhere. To her, there’s no point.
Over by the bathroom, Michael and Erin are talking to each other quietly. He just tucked her hair behind her ear.
Dad used to tease Mom, and then tuck her hair behind her ear. I’ve seen guys do it to girls in movies. Why did Michael touch my sister like that?
* * * *
The place wasn’t what Ashley had been expecting. Then again, most of her pre-pubescent expectations of life had been decimated over the course of half a day.
I have no one. My grandparents are dead. My father is dead. She even felt sort of bad about losing Gloria. Sort of.
Grace had driven to the suburbs south of the city. The rich suburbs, as in million dollar homes. A billboard by the entrance read, New homes being constructed from $500’s and more. Come join our community! Even without the sign, the homes were not for paupers. They were sprawling estates made of brick. Two houses down sat a fountain big enough to swim in. The house they stopped at was modest compared to the others. Not in size, but in outdoor ornamentation. The lawn was well maintained, but the mailbox wasn’t customized into the shape of a mosaic mermaid or dolphin. There were no statues or fountains.
They walked to the front door.
Before Grace knocked, Ashley wanted to know: “Is this your…friend’s…house?”
She hesitated on the word friend because she meant to say Leemo, but decided against it. From the sound of him, Leemo wouldn’t live in a nice place.
“Who else’s house would it be?”A smile teased the woman’s face.
She knew what Ashley had meant to ask. She found it funny and chuckled to herself. Four knocks later, and she hollered, “Can you let us in already? It’s freezing out here!”
“I’m coming!” A man answered. When he opened the door, Ashley thought, Oh.
He looked about Grace’s age, similarly attractive. No gold chain or white powder dotting his nose, though. Rectangular-shaped glasses served as his one accessory.
“Juniper, next time be nicer or I won’t open the door.” To Ashley, he said, “Hello.”
“That was me being nice.” Grace/Juniper said.
“Juniper?” Ashley mumbled.
She thought back to the three wallets in the truck. Did one of them read Juniper-something-or-other? Probably not.
The man stepped back, allowing them room to walk into his not-so-humble abode. Like his lawn, the indoor décor was sparse. Ashley couldn’t believe one person could live in such a mausoleum.
“I would invite you into the living room to catch up, but let’s get business out of the way first. Follow me.”
Business. She knew what sort of business Juniper engaged in, and she didn’t want any part of it.
“Wait.” Ashley said. The man stopped walking. “How do you know what we’re here for?”
“When Juniper showed up at my door with a young girl, I assumed it was so I could help you the way that I helped her. Am I wrong?”
“I do need help, but…” She didn’t know what to say next. She didn’t want to offend, but she didn’t want to be violated either.
The man hunched over a bit to look Ashley in the eyes. Usually, an adult getting down to her eye-level was condescending, but the man’s voice and eyes read anything but.
“Are you lost? Are you alone?”
Two naked questions, with equally vulnerable answers. Ashley swallowed the ocean of spit in her mouth, ready to answer.
“Yes, I am.”
“If you’re a friend of Juniper’s, I’ll do everything I can to help you. Let’s go to my workroom.” He reached for a door at the end of the foyer. Inside was an illuminated stairway.
Ashley’s heart picked up pace. She heard her father’s voice in her head, don’t trust strangers. He had told her the same thing over and over, along with don’t get in the car with strangers. Following a stranger into a basement would have probably been next on her father’s list of no-no’s. Another night, she might have gone anyway. Adults could usually be trusted, but the night’s events had shown her adults could discard one face and then put on another. She had to choose between following these two strangers or getting answers.
“Why do we have to go down ther
e?" She looked behind her. "Juniper, what are we here for?”
“You don’t have to be scared." Juniper promised. "You have to trust me and know I wouldn’t lead you into a dangerous place. Do you believe me?”
Again, Ashley felt a strange tingle, and a faint roar built and fell behind her ears. “Yes, I believe you.”
“Good. Then c’mon.”
****
September 4th
Even though she hasn’t been speaking or eating on a regular basis, Louise noticed the weirdness of Michael and Louise. When Michael and Erin were speaking nearly nose to nose, Louise’s eyes flickered out of the haze. After a few minutes of watching, she changed to marble again.
Last night, Michael and Louise…Michael and Louise…well, I think they did stuff. TGIFF kinda stuff.
Around 3 am (not that I have a watch, just felt like 3amish), Erin’s giggles woke me up. She wasn’t next to me like always, but she was next to Michael. Under his covers-kinda next to him. Whispers and groans came from their corner in the basement. I was about to cough loudly, but they went to the bathroom and I didn’t have to.
When the door closed, I heard zippers coming down. Using my blanket as a buffer, I covered my ears to block out the inevitable moans. What surprised me were the tears that blotted my eyes. I didn’t think I could cry anymore after dad and mom.
Yet, I blubbered over business which certainly wasn’t mine. Well, it was sort of mine. Really, I cried because everything had gotten so twisted up. We used to be almost like a family, but Erin and Michael broke that up for good.
(I’m going to lose her all over again.)
What seemed like hours later, the traitors left the bathroom. Michael came out first. Erin came out a few seconds after, going to her bed pallet with a strange lilt to her walk. She settled into her blankets. It was odd when her and Louise (who I hoped wasn’t awake) caught each other’s eyes. Erin looked away first.
A year ago, I could have never imagined anything improper could happen between Erin and Michael. I don’t know the extactos of doing It but I do know that’s the word for what Erin and Michael did. The infamous It Gary always laughed about, making jokes about a process he didn’t fully understand.
The Man has seen to the continued sex-ed part of my schooling. I know things Gary would never have thought about.
Thanks, you heartless bastard.
* * * *
September 9th
When you can see a person’s ribs through their clothes, their anorexia has reached a critical point. Anorexia isn’t regularly taught in 7th grade. Not where I’m from. Like most of the lessons I’ve been learning from day to day, I've learned about anorexia from experience.
Louise’s ribs aren't poking through her grungy t-shirt just yet, but her chin is more defined than it was, and her collarbone is like a hanger-rod holding up shoulders. She sleeps most of the day, and with her lack of food, it’s understandable. She has zero energy for anything else. Even when He comes to collect her, she shuffles to the kill room to do her duty. No screams or protests about it.
Because I'm worried, and because Erin couldn’t do it herself, I talked with Louise today. I tried to reach her through the layers of hurt.
“Do you wanna know I why I really take care of the Wasters when no one else does?”
Her stare wouldn't have spurned on many, but I kept at it.
“I take care of them because that’s what killed my mother.”
A change in her blinking pattern told me I’d gotten her attention.
“See, after He killed my dad, mom had no hope. She stopped talking, stopped eating, stopped caring. Erin and I were scared of how skinny she was getting, and we tried to make her eat. Nothing worked.” I thought it’d be easier to tell the story, seeing as how months had passed, but my voice was shakier than I wanted it. “I remember the day that I knew she wasn’t coming back from it. I woke up in the middle of the night, and there she was, awake. Her eyes were green emeralds flashing in her face. I still have nightmares about that night. Mostly because of her eyes. They weren’t her eyes anymore. It was like she was already dead. A few days later, she fell to the floor and didn’t get up. Hers was the first body Erin and I rolled up into the tarp for Him to take. Easy peasy, like trash.”
Even though I wanted to cry, it wouldn’t have been right. I swallowed the softball in my throat.
“The same thing’s gonna happen to you.” She wasn’t looking at me. I tried again. “Louise, you’re gonna die.”
Louise didn’t move. She didn’t seem to be listening to me. My big guns had fallen flat. I decided to try another way in.
“We’ve talked about a lot of things, but you’ve never mentioned how you and---” saying Michael’s name right then would have been counter-productive, “----how you were taken. How did it happen?”
It was quiet. I swear I could hear the sound of her wetting her eyeballs. My speech about my mother’s death and the possibility of her own death didn't move her. Why would a conversation about her capture bring her around?
I stood up.
I took two steps before she finally spoke.
“It was a Tuesday. Michael and I were on a date, going to our favorite sushi restaurant. We ate the dollar sushi, but would have sprung for the lobster had we known it was going to be our last real meal. Anyway, we drank too much plum sake and had to walk home. Of course, we were scared of walking anywhere because walking, especially at night, was asking for trouble. We went anyway, with all the arrogance and stupidity of great youth. On the way, we stopped for cigarettes. Nasty habit brought on again by the arrogance of youth. Before I walked into the store, I saw red and blue light on the glass windows. An officer passed by in this patrol car. I wish I could say I felt a premonition, or that I got a chill from how he looked at me, but it was the exact opposite. Like a fool, I smiled at him, my cute smile, too. He tipped his hat at me, and kept driving. I was sure that was the end of it.”
Her story was longer than I had expected. My legs were prickling with the beginnings of numbness, forcing me to sit down again.
“When we left the store, He was parked down the street, waiting for us. As we walked past, He told us to get against the wall. Michael refused and He threw me against the wall. That’s when Michael got tasered for trying to help me. Both of us ended up in the back of His car for public drunkenness and assaulting an officer.
“We were still kind of drunk, but the situation had sobered us enough that we were able to notice He wasn’t driving near a police station. By the time we realized the trouble we were really in, He had locked us in the spare room of the basement.”
When she finished, I asked her another question on my mind.
“Why can’t you and Michael get back together?”
During her story, she had continued staring at no one corner in particular. However, at my question, her head came around sharply.
“Nothing you did before matters.” I told her before she could answer. “You both should know that.”
From the way he shifted on his pallet, I could tell Michael overheard at least part of our conversation.
* * * *
10
The basement was the man’s true home. There was a large desk in the shape of a semi-circle. It held five computers, and other pieces of technological equipment Ashley had no name for. Beyond the stairs was a second room. The door was open: she peeked in to see a fully furnished bedroom. She bumped into a doorknob behind her.
“That’s to the bathroom.” Richie Rich said. “Now,” he settled in a chair in front of his computers, “before I start, I have to know how old.”
“I’m--,”
Juniper cut Ashley off. “Sixteen.”
Richie didn’t give his opinion on the answer. He click-clacked away on his computer.
About a minute later, he waved Ashley to come closer. “I need to get a headshot.”
It sounded like he wanted to hurt her. She didn't move forward, she only shook her head no.
> "They'll be no shots fired. Can I leave, please?" The door was far away, but not if she ran.
Juniper and Richie laughed.
"No, not shots like from a gun, silly girl." Juniper said. "Shots like for a photograph."
Ashley face flushed red. The two adults were smiling at her, not mockingly, but she still felt dumb for confusing photography with guns. Too much violence witnessed had kept her mind focused on the subject.
Richie pointed for her to stand in front of a small camera on his desk.
“Smile.”
Ashley did not smile.
Richie snapped the photograph anyway. He gestured to indicate they were done for the moment.
As Ashley was walking over to where Juniper stood, he asked for her name. Getting help from strangers went against her tiny gut feelings.
"Can't you just make one up?"
Richie tilted his head. "I can, but you might forget it and mess things up for yourself."
She decided to let go and follow directions without question. The two strangers were helping her without asking questions, and so far they didn't want anything in return. Ashley hoped later they weren't expecting something she couldn't give.
“Ashley Delia Heard.”
“Thanks, Ashley.” Click, clack. Clickety, click, click, clack.
Juniper and Ashley stood near the stairs for five minutes before Richie remembered they were there. “You two can sit over there.” He nodded at the couch across the room. “This is gonna take a bit to print out.”
When they were settled on the couch, Ashley took the time to ask some questions. “Who is this guy?”
Juniper chuckled. “I was waiting for that. You must’ve figured out he’s not my pimp.”
Ashley coughed. She hoped the noise would deter Juniper from noticing the red creeping into her cheeks.
“No, it’s okay. I know what I am, but I wasn’t always.” She said the words lightly, as though she were referring to a medical condition and not her career choice. “I met Christopher in college. He’s my only friend these days.”
