Guineas were stupid, and Jacob hated all stupid creatures. He knew he should get to the camp, because Carlita would be waiting.
Renee was now hurrying toward him, coming up the rise, her dress shoes slowing her down. He waited until she was close enough so that he could hear her shouts, then he turned from the cemetery. She had never been to this part of the farm, and he didn’t want to lose her. Joshua would never forgive him if Renee missed all the fun.
The slope grew uneven beneath his feet, the trail eroded since the days when cattle had made their way to the barn from far pastures. The sun was heading down toward the tops of the mountains, over where Tennessee and North Carolina collided in monstrous, rocky waves and the autumn trees screamed red and yellow as if on fire. Jacob could smell his own sweat, the crisp acid of dying oak leaves, and rabbit tobacco. Joshua didn’t deserve this place.
He turned once to see Renee cresting the hill behind him, now rid of her shoes. Her hair trailed behind her, golden in the late-afternoon sun. No wonder Joshua loved her so. She was an ideal, a floating dream image of womanhood, someone who was loyal and stable and strong. A woman who could build a better man. She understood what it meant to be a Wells.
Well, most of it.
He reached the first of the Fraser firs, Christmas trees that were too deformed for market and had been left to grow wild. They threw long shadows as he ran between the rows, stumps of harvested trees dotting the hillside. Briars tore at his pants legs, and he knew Renee would have trouble following with her bare feet. He considered stopping, letting her catch up, but the roofs of the migrant camp were below him now, the tottering shed from where he’d first watched Carlita and Joshua, the land giving way to a sheer drop behind the mobile homes, falling away to the river. The blackened ruins of two fire-gutted trailers stood near the ledge, shards of ragged alloy spiking toward the sky.
The road to the camp ran parallel to the river, twin tracks of brown dirt bounded by oaks and white pines. A narrow, wobbly bridge spanned the river, leading to the tree fields and upper pastures. Jacob had driven the road many times, and had walked it many more, the long way home. All those nights spent following Joshua, watching as Carlita surrendered herself, wrapped her brown limbs around him and shouted his name.
Joshua.
That had been the problem. She’d always called out “Joshua.”
He picked up the pace, excited now. Soon she wouldn’t call him “Joshua” any more.
The rusty, green Chevy was parked in front of the last mobile home. No doubt, Carlita was cleaning the cut on Joshua’s face, kissing his brow and telling him it would soon be over. His loco brother would bother him no more. They would be away from this place, wealthy, and then they could live as they were meant.
The grin felt like it was splitting his face. It wasn’t easy being a Wells, becoming a Wells. But the end was near. He would get all the good things he deserved.
Jacob gained speed as he ran down the slope, his legs rejuvenated. Time seemed to fall away, and he was sixteen again, the hills lush with trees, a thread of campfire smoke rising from the migrant camp, bacon in the wind. It was the day after their birthday, and both of the boys had taken their driver’s tests and gotten their licenses. Joshua said they should celebrate, said he had a special present for his favorite brother. He told Jacob to come by the camp that afternoon. There was a green bow on the shed door, and when he opened the door, heart like a jackhammer in his chest, he heard the grunting in the shadows, the frantic whisper of his brother’s name, then laughter. Joshua lay on top of Carlita, his skin pale against her brownness, the hay strewn around them as they wallowed, the air thick with dust. Joshua groaned and pushed himself to his knees, looked at his brother in the doorway.
“Happy birthday to us,” he said.
And sixteen-year-old Jacob took a step inside, fumbling for the buttons on his shirt. Carlita didn’t rise, just lay on her back and smiled, her breasts lifting with her breath, the dark patch between her spread legs glistening in the half-light. Jacob’s trembling fingers finally managed to free the shirt, and he shucked his shoes, and he was approaching her, unbuckling his belt, wondering if he could do it with his little brother watching, when the back of his head erupted in a thunderclap of red agony.
The thirty-three-year-old Jacob rubbed his head now, remembering the dull throb, the rising from the gray mist to find himself on his stomach on the dirt floor of the shed. An ax handle lay beside him. His clothes were scattered, his pants around his knees, his wallet gone. Joshua had stolen his driver’s license, and Jacob had never gotten it back.
He now reached the camp and moved past the Chevy, peering through the tinted window to make sure the key was in the ignition. Carlita would want to make a fast getaway. That’s the way women were, especially when they wanted to rip out a man’s heart and show it to him while it was still beating, laughing all the while.
They would be in the last mobile home, the one with the faded silver stripe down the side and translucent polyvinyl taped over the windows.
The door was unlocked. He looked back up the hill and saw Renee’s silhouette against the sundown. If she didn’t fall, she’d be right on time. He yanked open the door. “Joshua!”
Joshua and Carlita sat on a couch in the dark living room. The couch looked to have been inhabited by rats, with cotton dribbling from its stitches. A brick propped up one corner. Carlita was leaning into Joshua, and he had his arm around her.
“Let’s go, Carlita,” Jacob said. “He’s got his.”
“Not so fast,” Joshua said. “Two more million.”
“You can get it from Renee.”
“You ain’t much of a horse trader, are you?”
“I just want it over with.”
Carlita looked at him with those maddening brown eyes. “Why do you bring that crazy woman into this, Joshua?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. We’re just giving you what you wanted all these years.”
“I want to go back to Tennessee.”
“Get in the car, then,” Jacob said.
Carlita looked at Joshua, who squeezed her shoulder and lifted his arm from her body. He gave her a little shove. “You heard your husband. You promised to honor and obey, till death do us part.”
Carlita stood, her breasts swaying beneath her shirt, her ripeness in defiance of time and truth. Jacob licked his lips. He wondered how much she had changed, if she was still as moist and frantic as she had been that long-ago night of the trade. She’d lived hard in the meantime, and Jacob planned to let her live harder. Much harder.
“How you going to do her?” Joshua asked him.
“By accident, the way we always do it. I figure the river. It was dark, she slipped, hit her head on the rocks.”
“Too bad you can’t burn her up, huh?” Joshua’s stained grin was like that of an opossum’s in a chicken house.
“Don’t want to push my luck,” Jacob said.
“You’ll get all kinds of sympathy for your loss. If you get away with it.”
“I don’t like this,” Carlita said to Josh. “I thought we take the money and go home.”
“Jake and me, we made a new deal.” Joshua took a long swallow from the bottle in his lap. “I get the house and money, the fancy stuff. I get his good life, and he gets mine. I finally get to be a Wells, and he gets... well, he gets what he wants.”
“He gets your life?” Carlita shook her head. “You have no life.”
Jacob was aroused by the memory of her writhing under him, panting and urgent then pushing him over to climb on top, then accepting him from behind, from the side, demanding, hungry, a wild thing that Renee could never be. Opening up parts of himself that he didn’t know existed. She had made him feel alive. She had made him want to kill.
Jacob smiled and took her by the wrist. “Get in the car.”
“The gas mileage sucks,” Joshua said. “And don’t drive drunk because the tag’s expired. You ain’t got enough money to bail yourself
out of jail.”
“We’ll manage,” Jacob said. “We’ll get by on love, right, Carlita?”
“You’re both loco,” she said.
He pulled her to the doorway. Carlita slapped at his arm, eyes imploring Joshua to help her. She spat at Jacob, a wad of her saliva sticking to his pink cheek before beginning a slow crawl down his face. “Let me go, pig.”
“Just head on along,” Joshua said. “After a month or two, you won’t even know the difference. Jacob will never do it as good as me, but hey, you never noticed before.”
“Before?”
Jacob grinned. “Didn’t you wonder about that night?”
“Which night?”
Joshua hoisted his tall boy of Budweiser and showed the bobbing knot of his neck as he swallowed. “Ten years ago. When we first made the trade.”
Jacob dragged Carlita to the door, but her legs collapsed and she became dead weight. The mobile home shook with their struggle, teetering on its cinder block pillars. Renee’s voice came from outside, calling Jacob.
“Now for my part of the deal,” Joshua said. He rose from the couch, staggering, eyes bright and red. He tossed his Budweiser can into the corner of the living room, stirring a cockroach. His belch tainted the air as he pushed past Jacob and Carlita. “Here I am, honey,” he called.
Jacob wrapped his arms around Carlita and hauled her outside. She grabbed the door jamb, kicking her feet, but Jacob could hardly feel the blows against his shin. Her fingernails skreeched against the metalworks of the door, then he yanked her free.
Renee had reached the Chevy and leaned against it, catching her breath. Her hair was tangled, the knees of her pants torn and the bare skin stitched with blood and briars.
“Come on inside, honey,” Joshua said to her. “We got a lot to talk about.”
“Jacob?” She twisted her head in confusion.
“What?” Joshua said.
Jacob still loved her, in a strange way, and he almost regretted what he’d have to do. But she’d wanted to be a Wells, she’d signed up for the company plan, and she was worth two million dollars dead.
Sometimes that’s just the way it went. Sometimes you were worth more dead than alive.
Just ask Mattie.
Jacob dragged Carlita to the Chevy. She elbowed him in the side, and he fought an urge to slap her. That’s what Joshua would do, slap her silly and throw her down on the ground. He wasn’t Joshua. Not yet.
Renee grabbed him, trying to pull him away from Carlita. “Leave her alone.”
Jacob shrugged away from her grip and flung the driver’s-side door open. Held by only one arm, Carlita squirmed free and spun, spittle flying from her mouth, fists raised in front of her. Jacob closed on her, cornered her between the mobile home and the toolshed. He backed her toward the shed. She dodged to the left, but he tackled her and they wrestled on the ground.
“You stinking bastard,” Carlita said, her blows raining on his back with the sound like that of a dull drum.
“Jacob!” Renee called, but Joshua held her now. She writhed against him, much like she probably had when Joshua was planting the seed that became Mattie.
Enraged by the memory, Jacob picked up Carlita and shoved her into the toolshed, then slammed the door and snapped the hasp.
“Jake!” Renee screamed. “Help me.”
“Right here, babe,” Joshua said, laughing as he pinned her against the Chevy, obviously enjoying the contact as she squirmed beneath him.
“You’re crazy,” she said to him. “What have you done to Jacob?”
“I let him be himself,” Joshua said. “That’s something you never did.”
“How the hell do you know what I did or didn’t do?”
Joshua reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handheld tape recorder. He pressed a button and thumbed up the volume. The hiss of the tape drowned out the roar of the river below then came Jacob’s voice, compressed and flattened, but recognizable, eerily similar to the voice of the Rock Star Barbie.
“It’s the only way, honey,” Jacob said on the tape. “The fire will start downstairs. When the alarm goes off, I’ll get Mattie and we’ll meet you outside. That way no one will suspect anything.”
Jacob approached the Chevy and smiled as Renee’s voice came on the tape: “I’m worried, Jake.”
He mouthed the words that he’d said next, in sync with the tape. “A million dollars, honey.”
Joshua clicked the tape recorder off as Renee slumped in surrender. Carlita must have found something blunt and wooden, because she was hammering on the shed door, causing slivers of wood to fall from the planks. The wind had risen, and the air had gone cool with the dying of the day. The sun now touched the ridge, an obscene orange ball whose light smeared the clouds into stained rags and sent fingers of hellish flame across the homestead.
“You taped it,” Renee said to Jacob.
“You know how I feel about insurance.”
“Goddamn you, you taped it.”
“If we got caught, I wasn’t going to go down alone.”
Joshua slid the tape recorder into his shirt pocket. Though Renee had stopped struggling, he kept her pinned against the car’s fender. Or maybe he just enjoyed the heat of her body. “A Wells never fails.”
“And two Wells are better than one,” Jacob said.
“You’re insane,” Renee said between sobs. “Both of you.”
“Shit,” Joshua said. “I ain’t the one that killed my own kid for money.”
“Yes, you are,” Jacob said. “I never would have done that. But you would.”
“Hell, I started the fire, but you’re the one that fucked up. You were supposed to get her out of there.”
Jacob grinned, and the expression felt like a live snake across his face. “I tried. But maybe I didn’t try as hard as I could.”
Renee stared at him, then past him, eyes wide and blank. “Jakie. Oh, Jakie.”
“I couldn’t let her live,” Jacob said to Renee. “You can see that, can’t you?”
“Oh, Jesus, Jacob.”
Joshua spat. “What the hell, it was another million, right?”
“It’s all Christine’s fault. She died natural and it paid good. Mattie was just too healthy.”
Renee sagged and Joshua released her. She fell to her knees, sobs wracking her shoulders. She tried to speak, but the words became gasps. The sunset threw the migrant camp into a golden light, the color of Jacob’s memories. Of watching Carlita and Joshua through the window, of fantasizing that he was his younger brother, that he could trade his life for Joshua’s.
Only he couldn’t trade fifty-fifty. He was too deeply in debt.
“Two million for two kids,” Joshua said to Renee. “And two million for you. But I’m taking a down payment first. I got a feeling you ain’t had a real man in years.”
“What about the autopsy?” Jacob said.
“Shit. Semen got DNA, don’t it?”
“Well, we got the same DNA, so go for it.”
Renee looked at Jacob, wondering about the next breath and how it could possibly force itself from the sky and into her constricted, brick-hard lungs. She’d pushed him to this. She was the one that put value in material things. She wanted the Wells world, the power, the land, the respect. She’d wanted to be a Wells more than Jacob ever had.
Mattie, that was an accident. But Christine….
As if he could read her thoughts, Jacob said, “I didn’t kill Mattie for the money.”
He sat on the Chevy’s hood and lit a cigarette, then blew smoke into Joshua’s face. “I killed her because she was yours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Renee’s muscles were damp rags. Her tongue was swollen in her mouth, her throat tight. The ringing in her ears was so intense she might have misheard Jacob.
Mattie was Joshua’s?
The revelation made the horizon blur on the edge of her vision and the sky was an obscene and smothering ocean above her. Her head throbbed, her eyeball
s ached, her jaws clenched. Her intestines felt as if they had been yanked from her gut and knotted around her larynx. But beneath the sick pressure in her rib cage was a small and sick glow of joy–she bore no blame for Mattie’s death.
It was all Jacob’s fault.
But what was Joshua saying about Christine?
She couldn’t understand, didn’t want to. The pounding on the shed door was like the beat of a bruised wooden heart, and Carlita’s Spanish curses and screams came in muffled arrhythmia behind it. The sun cast doomsday lava over the land. Renee closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears, but it was too late. The knowledge had entered and could never be purged.
Jacob had killed their children.
“Get up,” Joshua shouted at her in his rough, smoky voice. She opened her eyes to the scarred tips of his boots. She lifted her head, though gravity was an unforgiving enemy.
“Hear what he just said?” Joshua said.
She couldn’t speak. Words had become gravel in her lungs.
“He torched our kid,” Joshua said. “Ain’t that just like a Wells?”
She shook her head and an impossible smile came to her lips. The sunset was warm on her face, the air pine-sweet, the river churning and cold below. This was the far end of the world, this land that had created the Wells twins. The gates of hell must surely be somewhere nearby, waiting for them all to enter.
“Our kid.” Joshua snorted with derision. “Reckon my seed took where his wouldn’t.”
She tried to arrange his words into a sensible structure. Language had become an elusive snake burrowing into a moist hole in the riverbank. All she knew was the song of the river, its sibilant rush, its bright splashing against stones, slithering toward a place far away.
That August night when Jacob had taken her by force, had spent his passion into her again and again, when she’d fully opened herself to him and let him reach and join in that most sacred sanctuary. It hadn’t been Jacob after all. It had been Joshua.
Mystery Dance: Three Novels Page 24
