Jamarco ran into the bathroom. “Crystal, what’s wrong?”
Crystal burst into tears and buried her head in his chest. “Jamarco, I can’t go to jail! My babies need me! I can’t go to jail for killing that white woman, I just can’t! Please, you have to tell them that I had no choice! She was crazy! She attacked the doctor and I was just trying to get her off of him! I swear Jamarco, that’s all I was trying to do! I didn’t mean to...I didn’t mean…”
“It’s gonna be ok, I promise. Come on, let’s go.”
Crystal pushed away from him. “No! I can’t go back out there! I can’t go out there and see...her.”
“It’s ok. There is a mechanical room just across the hall. I put her in there. She’s gone. You won’t see her again.”
Crystal took several deep breaths before she was calm enough to speak again. “What about Paul? He’s hurt. We need to get him to a hospital or something.”
“He told me he’s gonna need stitches. He showed me how to stop the bleeding then told me to give him the sedative meant for Mrs. Reingold. So that’s what I did. He’s sleeping now.”
“So he’s gonna be alright?”
“For now,” Jamarco said. He took Crystal’s hand. “Come on, I will take you to Mr. Walls. You’ll be safer with him.”
“Mrs. Reingold. Was that her name, the lady I…um…hit?”
“Yes.”
“Did she live in the building?”
“Yes, she lived on the fifteenth floor. She must have been standing near her window when the explosion happened and got a pretty nasty cut on her head. We were checking all the units with broken windows and I found her unconscious and bleeding. I brought her down here and the doc patched her up. When she came to she seemed just fine. She was talking to everyone and being her usual sweet self. But then, just like what happened to Moji, she went crazy.”
“And Paul gave her the sedative?”
“Yeah, she was the first one to get it.”
“And the other woman?”
“Same situation. We found her outside. Looked like she was hit by falling glass.”
“Seems strange that this is only happening to women. You didn’t have to sedate any men?”
“Nope. We found plenty of injured men during our sweep. Most chose to stay in their apartment. A few came down, got patched up and went back to their unit. As far as I know, none of them have started acting strange.”
“Did Mrs. Reingold have a husband or any family?”
“She’s a widow. I think she’s got a couple of kids but they don’t live in Texas.”
“Jamarco, we can’t just leave her body in the mechanical room. We have to tell somebody what happened.”
“Yeah, I know. When the power comes back on we’ll call the proper authorities and let them handle it.”
Crystal got a worried look on her face. “But we’re going to make sure the authorities know what really happened, right? That I didn’t just hit her over the head with that flashlight for fun. She went crazy and was trying to kill Paul and it was self-defense or something. That’s what we’re going to say, right?”
“Crystal, have you listened to the radio at all?”
“No, not really. The AR-15 show is still on the radio in there but since they’re mostly crazy conspiracy theorists I just tuned it out.”
“Well, with the power being out, there aren’t many radio stations still on the air now but those that are pretty much report the same thing.”
“Which is?”
“That there are people out there who have seemed to have gone crazy and are attacking people for no reason. The reports say they’re acting like they’re on some kind of drug, like bath salts or meth.”
“What’s the government saying? I mean, if it’s that bad then the mayor, the governor, FEMA, somebody’s gotta have an official statement, right?”
“That’s just it, no one is saying anything. The police haven’t even confirmed that something strange is going on. They just set up a curfew and told everybody to stay in their homes. It’s foolishness. But something is happening Crystal, something bad. You’ve been outside. You’ve seen it and heard it. What happened to Miss Douglas, Mrs. Reingold, and the other woman is not normal. The government is hiding something.”
“So you think a terrorist group has released some kind of poison over the city?”
“I don’t know. That’s what Mr. Jenkins and his friends think. But he’s sick in the head so I don’t listen to him much.”
So that’s why you think I won’t be blamed for Mrs. Reingold’s death?”
“You heard the gunshots. I think there’s a lot of people dying out there right now. Mrs. Reingold will just be one of many.”
“You said it like I do that shit every day. I didn’t want to kill her Jamarco, she attacked us!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. All I am trying to say is that the authorities won’t have a hard time believing your story with so many others telling one just like it. Ok?”
Crystal took a deep breath. “Ok. So what are we going to do now? The doc’s hurt. Who’s going to take care of Moji and the other woman? Who’s going to take care of Paul?”
“I’m gonna take you to Mr. Walls and come back up here to tend to them.”
“Alright,” she said. She clung to Jamarco’s arm as they walked out into the living room. Crystal stopped short and drew a sharp breath. “Oh Jamarco, what is that smell?”
Jamarco sniffed the air. “What? Crystal, I don’t smell anything.”
Suddenly, Crystal was suffocating. The air around her felt thick and hot. She stepped back through the bathroom doorway, her eyes wide with fear. “You said you took care of Mrs. Reingold! You said…”
“Crystal,” Jarmacro said, extending his hand to Crystal, “what’s wrong? I did take care of it. Come look in the room. She’s not here.”
“I-I-I can’t!” Crystal stumbled over to the vanity, held her head over the sink, and retched.
Jamarco followed her into the bathroom. He used one hand to gently massage her back and neck, he used the other to brush the hair away from her face. “Crystal, you’re going to be alright. You’re just scared.”
“Yes, yes I’m scared,” she said, catching her breath, “but I did not imagine that smell Jamarco.” She took a deep breath. The smell triggered a flood of old memories. “I know the smell of death, Jamarco. I’ve smelled it before, a long time ago.”
She remembered when she was a little girl, playing hopscotch on a hot summer morning in the Warren Street housing project where she lived. Herself, Moji, and their mutual friend Karen Jackson sat three abreast on the concrete sidewalk adjacent to the asphalt courtyard at the end of their street’s U-shaped cul-de-sac. She and Moji, both seven years old, sat on either side of Karen, who just turned six, their knees crushed against their chests and the back of their heels and ankles pressed against the cool granite curb.
“My board, my rules,” Moji said.
“I’m not taking off my shoes,” Crystal said.
“Me neither!” Karen said, sticking out her tongue at Moji.
“Don’t stick your tongue out at me,” Moji said, “it’s not nice.”
“It’s too hot to take our shoes off,” Crystal said, “our feet will get burnt.”
“Yeah,” Karen said, “taking off our shoes to play hopscotch is stupid. Anyway, I can’t take off my new shoes because I have on white socks.” She lifted both feet off the ground and waved her patent leather Mary Janes around for the girls to admire. “My momma will be mad if I get them dirty.”
“Well I’m taking mine off,” Moji said as she untied her sneakers, “because that’s the only way you’re supposed to play hopscotch. My grandmother says so.”
“That’s because your grandma is from Africa,” Karen said, “No one wears shoes in Africa.”
“Karen Jackson! That is not true!” Moji said, “Africa is a continent not a country! There are lots of countries in Africa that
are just like here. My grandma lives in Nigeria and they have cars, houses, TV’s, and shoes, just like we do.”
“Do not!” Karen said.
“Do too!” Moji replied.
“Do not!” Karen repeated, louder than before.
“Do too,” Moji said before sticking out her tongue at Karen.
“Ok girl with Nigerian feet,” Crystal said, “you can go first.”
“Yes!” Moji said with a grin. She stuffed her socks in the toe of one of her shoes for safekeeping and grabbed the hopscotch marker—a Budweiser twist-off bottle cap Crystal found near the dumpster—out of Crystal’s hand and jumped to her feet. “Come on, I want to play a few games before the boys show up and make us get off the courtyard so they can play stupid street hockey.”
“I hate boys,” Karen announced to the group, “they always mess up everything, right?”
“Right!” Moji said.
The two glanced at Crystal for confirmation of their impromptu pact but she didn’t respond.
“Ooooh, I forgot, Crystal likes boys now!” Karen teased.
“Shut up Karen!” Crystal said, “Go on Moji, take your turn. We ain’t got all day.”
They surrounded the hopscotch board, Karen and Crystal on either side with Moji standing uncomfortably at the starting end, hopping from one foot to the other.
“Is that a new Nigerian dance?” Crystal said, trying but failing to suppress a snicker.
“Shut up Crystal!” Moji said, the heat subsiding enough to finally let her rest her heels on the ground, “It’s not that hot.”
“If you say so!” Crystal said, laughing. Out of the corner of her eye she caught some movement at the far end of the courtyard. A ball of shaggy hair appeared from behind the dumpster parked at the entrance to the alleyway.
“Dusty!” Crystal squealed in delight and ran toward the dumpster.
“Crystal, where you going?” Moji said, “you’re not going to watch me take my turn?”
“I’ll be right back,” Crystal replied, waving her hands in Moji’s direction without turning around.
The alleyway was a concrete path trapped between the back side of two long rows of buildings that connected two sections of the housing project. Everyone in the neighborhood called that dark stretch of pavement “The Alley.” It was a desolate passageway that spilled into the courtyard in front of Crystal’s house, frequently depositing its quarry of trash, rats, and drug addicts onto their front door, a situation her momma never grew tired of complaining about. What lay at the other end of the alley was a mystery to Crystal, her mother strictly forbid her from that end of the courtyard, scared she might venture too near and be lured or pulled into the alley by the malcontents that tended to loiter around it’s mouth. Crystal heard plenty of stories about what happens in that alley. Rapes, stabbings, shootings, and drug overdoses were the most frequent topics of discussion. Crystal was careful not to go anywhere near that end of the courtyard when her momma, or any of her momma’s friends, might be watching, because if she were caught, she knew her momma would unleash a whooping on her that she would never forget. So as she approached the dumpster, she gave a quick glance over to the front door of her unit, making sure her momma wasn’t watching from the kitchen window.
“Dusty,” she said, “where are you boy?” The smell of rotting trash, urine, and stale liquor grew strong as she drew closer to the dumpster, the top of which overflowed with torn garbage bags and a dark swarm of black flies. “Dusty? Dusty, please come out,” she said quietly, afraid if she spoke any louder she’d wake up whatever else made its home in the alley. She tiptoed around to the dumpster’s open end where a black plastic hatched door hanging precariously on one hinge with the slogan, ‘Keeping the City of Boston Clean!’ stamped on its face, had long ago broken its promise. Trash spilled through the broken door and piled up on the ground in an imperfect heap. Crystal stepped over the trash and stuck her head between the dumpster and the a cinder-block retaining wall that kept the dumpster separated from the housing units. There, gnawing on a bounty of moldy chicken bones, was Dusty.
“Dusty!” Crystal said, “What are you doing?”
Dusty, a cross between a poodle and a Pekingese, momentarily looked up from his meal, and wagged his tail.
“Dusty! You come out from behind there right now!” Crystal said. “You shouldn’t be eating chicken bones! Don’t you know they can get caught in your throat and you could choke!”
Dusty ignored her command and thrust his head deep into a nearby ruptured garbage bag and retrieved another chicken bone. Crystal held out her fist at arm's length and shook it at the dog. “Dusty come here. I have a treat for you!” she said, hoping the dog will fall for her ruse. As scared as she was of the creepy things that lived in the alley, and of the severe whooping she would get if she were caught, she sometimes would sneak out the house and feed her canine friends scraps from her dinner or leave a few tidbits on the ground near the mouth of the alley, hoping that they would find them before the rats did. She figured Dusty would forego the chicken bones for the promise of a better meal.
He took the bait.
Dusty abandoned the bones and trotted over to Crystal’s outstretched arm, sniffing curiously around her closed fist. When he was close enough, she grabbed a handful of his matted fur and picked him up off the ground, then backed away from the dumpster with Dusty in tow. “Stop wriggling so much!” she said as she wrapped both arms around Dusty’s frail and emaciated body, cuddled him to her chest, and began to rock him back and forth. “You’re such a beautiful little boy.” She walked back over to where Moji and Karen were waiting. Hey guys, look who I found!” Crystal said, holding the dog up like a proud parent, “I named him Dusty.”
“Eww!” Karen said, pinching her nose closed with her thumb and index fingers, “More like musty! I bet he stinks like poop!”
Crystal held the dog close, cradling him in her arms. “Don’t say that Karen, you’ll hurt his feelings.”
“Dogs don’t have feelings Crystal,” Moji said, “but that one looks like it has a bunch of fleas. I thought your momma told you not to mess with all those stray dogs. If your momma sees you holding that thing you gonna get a whooping.”
Dusty was one of several stray dogs that lived in and around the alley. Crystal loved all the abandoned dogs—’mutts’ her momma called them—that roamed the neighborhood. Her momma thought she was crazy and told her as much. “You gonna catch the worms messing with those nasty, mangy mutts,” she would often say.
“Moji, I thought you liked dogs,” Crystal said. She put Dusty down on the ground, wary of Moji’s warning. Dusty shook himself and sneezed but didn’t run away. He stayed close to Crystal, galloping around her feet in fits and starts, sniffing her ankles.
“He looks hungry,” Karen said, still holding her nose and keeping a safe distance, “I think he wants to eat you.”
“He doesn’t want to eat me, he’s just being friendly.”
“Make that smelly thing go back into the alley so we can finish our game.”
“Be quiet Karen! I ain’t gonna do that.” Crystal looked fondly at Dusty. “He likes being here with me, don’t you Dusty?”
The matted clump of fur adhered to Dusty’s tail began to frantically wave back and forth.
“See?” Crystal said, “he’s happy.”
“Well, if that nasty thing is staying then I’m going home,” Karen said, pouting.
“Go on home then!” Crystal said, “Me and Moji can play without you.”
Karen stuck out her tongue at Crystal and walked away, stomping her feet in anger with every step. Before she could get more than a few feet away, a police car came zooming up the block, siren blaring, and screeched to a halt right in front of the courtyard.
“Uh oh,” Crystal said, “it’s the po-po.”
Every kid in the neighborhood knew when the ‘po-po’ showed up there was going to be trouble. Crystal looked down in time to see Dusty sprinting back into the alley. Th
e siren and flashing lights attracted the attention of the adults, who were emerging, a few at a time, at their front doors to investigate. Crystal looked toward home and, sure enough, her momma had come to the screen door and was waving for her to come in the house.
“Lo-Ra!” chanted a high pitched voice from the other side of the street, “Come in this house right now!”
“Moji,” Karen said, “your momma is calling you!”
“I heard her,” Moji said, who hated when her mother called her by the pet name her father used for her. She swiped her shoes up in one hand and shuffled toward her house, being sure to give the police car a wide berth. A white policeman, the kind with red pasty face and big round pot belly—her daddy called those kind of bellies ‘beer guts’—got out of the car with an urgent look.
“You girls get off the street, ok?” he said in an unidentifiable accent so thick Moji barely understood him. “There’s a rabid dog running loose in the neighborhood and we need everyone to stay in their homes until it’s caught.”
“Kar-Ren!” boomed the voice of Mrs. Jackson, “come on in the house honey!”
“I’m coming mama!” Karen said as she took off, half running, half sliding in her new Mary Jane shoes.
Crystal reached her front door just as more police showed up and poured out of their cars. There was lots of confusion, the police were talking over each other and pointing this way and that. The policeman with the pot belly shouted something to the other officers while pointing in the direction of the alley. As her momma rushed her into the house, Crystal worried about which dog the police were looking for. She pressed herself to the kitchen window, the only window in their unit that faced the courtyard, hoping she would catch a glimpse of the dog. I hope it’s not Champ, she thought. Crystal loved all the abandoned dogs that roamed the neighborhood, but she loved Champ the most. A Shepard-Lab mix with big floppy ears and a bum hind leg that caused him to walk with a limp, Champ would follow her to and from her walk to school, lick her hand when she fed him scraps of food, and sit out in the courtyard for hours at a time, staring at their front door, waiting for her to emerge. She begged her momma to let her keep Champ but her momma wouldn’t hear of it. To Crystal, he was the best dog in the whole world. Somehow Champ knew when she needed a friend, someone to love her when she felt mostly unloved by everyone else around her. She waited at the window for a long time, waiting to see if anything interesting would happen. She was just about to give up and go to her room when the potbellied policeman came barging out of the alley like he was on skates. He was running so fast that his shirttail had come out of his pants. Crystal could see the underside of his pale, white belly. A bright red scar was burned across it where the belt of his pants had squeezed the blood to the surface. Something else bolted out of the alley, no more than a few steps behind the policeman.
The Scourge Page 18
