by Jordan Marie
I’m just as sure that’s not what’s going through her head, but I don’t correct him.
“There’s an outlet off Hayden’s front porch. I’m sure she wouldn’t have an objection to you charging your phone there, would you Hayden?”
“I…I guess not.”
“Good. That’s settled.”
“Fine. Thanks,” I tell them and turn away. The thank you sticks in my throat. I don’t see what the big damn deal is, but I would rather it be this way. I won’t have to deal with anyone.
I go plug my phone in, and I’m stomping back over to my place when the Pastor’s voice stops me. “Might I have a word, Michael?”
Christ. Why didn’t I just let the phone go? I started to, but years of being conditioned to always keep one active for the club and for Annie…Fuck.
“What?” I growl, and because of the memories I’ve accidentally set off inside of me, it is a growl.
“I was wondering if we might have a word while Hayden is inside.”
“What could we possibly have to talk about, Rev?”
“I’m no reverend. God says put no reverence on any man, I’m merely his servant,” he replies, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say to that, so I shrug and wait. “Hayden is very sensitive.”
“That’s one way of putting it. No worries, man. I have no plans on even talking to her again.”
“That might be for the best. She’s had enough trauma in her life. I won’t have her hurt again. It’s important that you know she will be watched over.”
“Is she yours?”
“Pardon?”
“Is she your woman? That baby she’s carrying, you put it there?”
“Of course not.”
“Where I’m from a man—a real man, takes care of what’s his, so if she’s yours you are obviously doing a piss-poor job of it.”
“I’m her pastor. I assure you there’s nothing else, but I do care about her. I need to know she’ll be safe here with you so close.”
“She’ll be as safe as she ever was. I don’t intend to look at her again, let alone talk to her,” I tell him, and that’s the God’s honest truth.
Exhausted, I walk away. I’ve already talked too much. I want to forget the fucking world and crash with a bottle of whiskey and darkness. Is that so much to ask? Behind me, I hear the woman tell the man she’s ready to go. I don’t look back, but for some strange reason I want to. Her voice is softer than it was yesterday, but I can still hear the anxiety in it. That’s not why I refuse to turn around. No, it’s those pale eyes of hers I want to gaze into. Because in them, I think I see as much pain as I have mirrored in mine. I relish in thinking that someone else has suffered as much as I have. I enjoy the idea so much that I want to see it again—but I deny myself that comfort.
“Let’s get going, Hayden. I was just saying goodbye to Michael. You’ll like having him as a neighbor. I know you like your solitude, but Michael is the name of God’s most trusted archangel. He’s the one who leads the battle against evil.”
Fuck. It’s been awhile, but I feel a rusty laugh pull up from my chest. It ends as more of a cough, but it was there.
“I’m no angel, Rev,” I toss out carelessly over my shoulder, as I keep walking away.
6
Hayden
I’m so mad at myself. I acted like an idiot. It was a combination of the way he looked and the blunt way he talked. He left me feeling rattled. The expression on his face didn’t help. He looked so…angry. His sexual remark slapped me across the face, and since I was already a little panicked…I became an idiot.
“You did really good today, Hayden,” Pastor Sturgill says, as he pulls into the parking lot of the diner. He’s dropping me off. Then a co-worker, Liese, will take me home. I would have driven myself, but the Pastor always insists he takes me to stock my baked goods at the stores. I think he worries about me. He along with my boss, Charlie are the two that helped me four months ago, when I was at my worst. He’s appointed himself my caretaker and unofficial counselor. I feel safe around him, so I can’t deny his council helps. I take a deep breath before turning to him.
“Not so good around my new neighbor. He’s going to think I’m crazy, Pastor Sturgill. Maybe I am.”
“You’re not. You’re rebuilding your life and Michael is…well, let’s just say he’s bound to remind you of things in your past that you don’t want to remember.”
“Maybe, but I should be the last person to cast judgment at the way a man dresses or looks. I hate when people treat me like that, just because they think they know my past.”
“You’re going to be okay, Hayden. You don’t see it because you’re a little lost right now, but you’re a very strong young woman. That baby inside of you is lucky to have you.” He smiles, glancing at my stomach.
His words should warm me. My hand goes to my stomach, and instead of warmth, I’m filled with fear. What if I fail her? I look out the window, trying to shake off the worries and sadness.
“I hope you’re right, Pastor Sturgill.” I look at the sky and frown. “It looks like we might be in for some rough weather.”
“The weather forecast mentioned some severe storms. You have emergency supplies, right? In case the power goes out?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thank you for your help today. I wish you’d let me pay you for the gas. You can’t keep doing this for free.”
“I can and I will. It’s a blessing to be able to help you. Stop trying to take away my blessing, Hayden.”
“Whatever you say. Thank you, again. I really appreciate it.” I open the door to get out and I’m outside, almost closing the car door, before he speaks up again with the same question he always asks me.
“You coming to church Sunday? We sure would love to have you.”
“Thank you…I might,” I tell him the lie, then I close the door before he can give a reply.
I got through my shift at work, because I didn’t have a choice. Charlie always takes it easy on me, making sure I have time to catch my breath, and giving me the easier tables; if she didn’t I might have already quit. It also helps that the diner is never really busy.
Liese dropped me off ten minutes ago, and I’m standing outside my door like an idiot, holding the one loaf of banana bread that I kept from earlier this morning. The rest of the stuff sold, and I have more money in my wallet than I’ve had in forever. I’m even hoping to get the mattress for Maggie’s crib after work tomorrow.
I look at the banana bread I saved. I didn’t really think this through. I wanted to give it to my new neighbor as an apology. I was hoping he would be outside when I made it home. He’s not. I can see the chrome shining on his bike, under the shed. I know he’s there, but when I look at the large, black barn with the shiny silver tin roof, I know there’s no way I have the nerve to take it to him. Oh well, it will keep. Maybe he’ll be out tomorrow, and I can give it to him then. I walk into the house with one last look up at the barn. When I lock the door, I repeat the words to myself that I hope will someday be true.
I’ll be stronger tomorrow.
7
Beast
Some things even alcohol won’t kill. It might be rotting my liver, but it sure as hell does nothing to stop the memories. There are days when I wonder why the fuck I don’t swallow a bullet and end it all. That seems like a fucked up way to go out. I was hoping the war with the Saints would pan out, and I could have at least gone out in a blaze of glory. Staring at the bottle of Jack I’m holding, I observe that it’s only half gone, but I’m losing my taste for it. The liquor isn’t doing what it needs to do. Maybe nothing can.
They turned the lights on today, but I’m still sitting here in the dark. I like the darkness better. It matches my mood. There’s a storm outside. Rain is pounding on the tin roof, and lightning keeps flashing and casting quick bursts of light through the windows. It would be peaceful to me…if I could ever find peace again.
Annabelle used to hate storms. They scared her
. She’d get in bed with me, and I’d hold her while telling her stories to ease her fear. Funny how little things like that are what you miss the most. There’s so many moments to choose from, but it’s the simple times I shared with my baby girl that I miss the most. When I remember them, they feel like they’re burning a hole inside of my heart. Rubbing my chest, I close my eyes.
Instantly, Annabelle’s face is there. Her beautiful smile and those gorgeous blue eyes. There’s so much I miss about her…so much I hunger for now. At the top of my list is the way she used to laugh. God, I miss that sound. The way her laugh could light up even the darkest parts of me. She had a beautiful laugh.
The thing that fucks with my head the most is: I can’t hear her laugh now. I want to hear her…just one more time. I’d give anything for that. Then, I would commit it to memory, because for the life of me, I can’t hear it in my head. It’s not there. It’s a piece of my daughter that is now just a faint whisper. It’s a part of Annabelle that I’m losing, and it’s killing me. Her sweet melodic laugh is gone forever. No one cares. I’m the only one who is torn apart inside, and I can’t do a damned thing to change it. It doesn’t matter how hard I crave it, I can barely hear my own daughter’s laughter. I know one day I’ll lose her completely. All but one thing. Because the only thing that I can’t forget… are her screams.
God, her screams haunt me… they’re destroying me. A real man…a real father would have saved her. He would have found a way. I failed. You read all the time how these parents do amazing things to save their children in times of emergency. Some woman lifted a whole fucking car. I read that somewhere. I was useless. I couldn’t do something as simple as get my daughter out of a car. She was alive. I heard her yelling…I heard her crying for me. I heard her begging for me. “Daddy!” she cried out in full panic. I tried to get to her. I tried so fucking hard, but it was all for nothing. I failed her. I failed my princess. My scars are a permanent reminder. A reminder that I am a failure.
A large crash next door makes me jerk, and I do my best to push the thoughts of Annabelle away. My hands are shaking. Fuck, I can even feel tears as the wetness pools on my face. This is what I am now…a fucking drunk who cries alone in the dark. I hear another crashing noise, and it’s closely followed by a loud scream. I put my whiskey down and stumble to look out the window. A tree has fallen in my neighbor’s backyard. It looks like it missed the majority of the house, but clearly part of the tree crashed through one of her back windows. I start to turn away, going back to lay down. That’s when I see her come outside in the pouring rain.
What the fuck does she think she can do? Is she going to try and move the whole tree? Doesn’t she care that she’s carrying a baby?
A better question might be why the hell I care. She’s nothing to me. Just another selfish, stupid woman. I walk back to the couch, dismissing her. She’s probably just like Jan. Obviously, she doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body. I grab the bottle and take another swig. Maybe I can drink until I pass-out. Closing my eyes, allowing the memory of Annabelle to come back to me, I will it to never leave.
“Daddy,” her voice calls out to me. She’s reaching for me, and I need to touch her. I extend my hand, trying to do just that—take her outstretched hand in mine. I can almost feel her. Then she’s gone, her voice… it disappears when the sound of an engine rumbles. I drop the whiskey bottle, not caring that it lands on its side and pours out onto the old wooden floor. I walk to the window, my head swimming, and I’m not sure if that’s from the alcohol or from the strength of the memories. Lightning streaks through the sky again, and I see that crazy-ass woman standing in the pouring rain holding what looks and sounds to be a fucking chainsaw.
“Son of a bitch!” I growl out. I should get out there before she gets herself killed. She’s a fucking lunatic.
8
Hayden
Damn it! Does God hate me? How much more does he expect me to take? I stare at the limbs and broken glass that just showered over the baby’s bed. One of the branches crashed against the bassinet and crushed in the top. I was going to use that to put her in my room at night… I start to cry. I can’t stop my tears, and I hate crying. I’ve spent so much time crying, and doing so is a big reinforcement that I’m weak. That’s not the feeling I want to teach my daughter. It’s not a feeling I ever want Maggie to feel.
For her part, Maggie picks this moment to kick me—hard. That feels like her telling me enough is enough and really, it is. It’s more than enough. I will not let some fucking tree be what breaks me after all the shit that I’ve endured up to this point in my life. This tree will not rob my daughter! With that thought and little else, I throw on my hand-me-down yellow raincoat. That was smart, well the smartest thing about this whole endeavor. Then, I push my feet into the nearest available shoes and march to the door with only one thing on my mind. Revenge.
My first stop is the old rickety shed at the end of my yard. The rain is pouring down, and it might have been a little smarter (as if anything about this could be) had I stopped to grab a flashlight. Luckily, (if it doesn’t strike me) lightning keeps flashing and helps shine my way through the dark. In the shed, there’s an old chainsaw. I found it here along with some other tools after I moved in. I never got rid of any of it, and now I’m glad for that.
I’ve never started a chainsaw in my life, but it has to be kind of like a lawnmower, right? The task sure seems a lot harder than I imagined. After the sixth time (okay probably closer to ten) of trying to start the damn thing, my arm is tired, and the fire inside of me is starting to subside. I decide to try one more time, and by a miracle of miracles, it actually works. I somehow manage to find the throttle and press the lever. Instantly, the motor cranks up. I keep my finger there, gunning it gently. Then, I walk back towards the house and that damn tree.
The chainsaw is heavier than I planned for and that along with the rain tries to exhaust me, but I must do this. I will not get pushed around anymore. I’m not going to stop until I prove that not only to myself, but my daughter. I bring the bar of the chainsaw down on the tree. Sawdust instantly gets thrown out everywhere. I feel a moment of elation, but in reality, I only manage to get the blade about an inch inside the tree when it stops cutting. I pull it out and start again. Apparently, the chain is so dull that I’m going to have to do this in slow increments. I don’t care. I’m doing it and that’s all that matters.
It’s raining so hard I can’t see, even with the lightning. Everything is blurry, because water is pouring down my face, interfering with my vision. The sound of the chainsaw, the pounding of the rain, and the thunder all combine to be so loud I hear nothing. Add all of that to the fact that I’m completely engrossed in what I’m doing, and I don’t hear or notice anything around me. So, when this giant bear behind me growls out, I scream like a little girl.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Michael yells through the noise, and I scream. Okay, it isn’t a bear. But he’s hairy and mean enough to be one.
I jerk around to face him, pulling the heavy chainsaw with me. Only, I forget to let off the throttle, and in my fear actually press harder. I hold the chainsaw in front of me like a weapon, wielding it like I’m Hercules lifting a sword. This probably isn’t a smart move, because it’s really heavy, and my arms are so tired that it begins to tip back towards my chest and face. I lean my body back to get away from the weapon, adrenaline making my body shake. I admit the smarter thing would have been to let off the throttle, or to at least pull my arm forward, but I’m kind of in a panic. I also pee a little on myself, but I’m blaming that on Maggie. She does like to dance on my bladder.
I scream again when the hand I have on the handle of the chainsaw is grabbed…hard. My first reaction is to fight for control, which lunges the chainsaw toward Michael. I, stupidly, still don’t take my hand off the throttle and instead try to get control of the chainsaw. I don’t know why, except it’s mine, and he looks mean. I don’t think it’d be wise to give it to
him.
Okay, maybe that’s a good enough reason.
When I don’t immediately turn loose, he twists my wrist, and the pain spreads instantly from there and up my arm. I cry out, but lose my hold on the chainsaw. He grabs it and physically throws it away from us. It lands ten feet across from us in a large mud puddle—instantly dying. I stare at it. I glance at him. Next, I glare at the hold he has on my wrist. Then, I look at him again. His long hair is loose now. It’s not held back by anything, and the rain has drenched him so that beads of water cling to his face and neck. His long beard reflects the same state and there are droplets of water running from the burly hair.
Lightning chooses this moment to blast through the sky, highlighting his face. I blink against the rain, thinking what I just witnessed can’t be true, and jumping as the sound of thunder rolls around us. Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom, chooses this moment to unleash another large flash of lightning. I think Mother Nature might just be a bitch, because now I can see clearly. My captor’s face is revealed in the stark light. His dark eyes are looking down at me, and I swear it appears as though liquid hate is rolling off him and pouring into me. The stark scars on his face are menacing with so much anger held on his face, and right before we’re plunged back into darkness, an image of Jack Nicholson from the movie, The Shining comes to mind. I jerk my hand to get it free.
He refuses to let go.
I try again, with the same result.
Finally, after all this, I do what any sane woman would do under similar circumstances.
I faint.
9
Beast
