by Martha Carr
One step away from the door was the loose floorboard. He pried it open just enough to let the long thin USB device roll in and drop between the two layers.
Thank goodness, I was too lazy to fix that, he thought, gently pushing the board back into place until it was level with the rest of the floor.
He looked at the key still in his hand and considered scaling his back fence. The neighbor’s dog would quickly give him away.
“Who is it?” he called out, buying a little time to think.
“F.B.I., sir. Are you Ray Billings?”
Ray felt a sense of relief wash over him. It’s not them, he thought.
“Yes, just a second.”
Ray peered out of the peephole at the fish-eyed view of the men’s heads.
“Can you show me some I.D.?” he asked. The short man in front deftly reached inside of his coat and pulled out a thin leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a gold badge.
Ray let out the breath he’d been holding and unlocked the front door. He stepped aside as the three men pushed past him into his house.
It wasn’t until the door shut that the first blow hit him. They hustled him quickly to his office, his feet barely touching the ground, before securing him to a chair.
“Where is it?” asked the shorter man who had shown him the badge.
“Are you really with the FBI?” Ray asked. It had never occurred to him that the list could spread that far. Another blow came swinging down.
“What did you do with it?” The little man didn’t seem to be angry; wasn’t yelling or gesturing at all. He asked the question quietly and gave Ray a moment to answer before hitting him with the butt of the gun again. It went on like that for minutes.
How long will this take to be over, he thought. His tongue darted to the corner of his mouth. Blood.
Ray knew his life was coming to an abrupt end. He let his arms sag against the ropes and let out a deep sigh.
An unhappy wife, too many bills, an occasional twinge that made him wonder what might be going wrong just underneath the surface of his skin. It all seemed so pointless now. All that wasted time.
The butt of the gun swung down again, landing neatly against Ray’s right ear replacing the sounds of the three men ripping through the room with a round, expansive tone that rang in his head. The folds of his ear momentarily flattened out as his head snapped hard to the left, wrenching his neck.
His arms pulled hard against the ropes wrapped around his wrists holding him fast to the back of the dining room chair. His shoulders ached. There was a pause as the wooden chair teetered for a moment; his right foot taped to the leg that was hanging in the air before gravity pulled it all slowly, back down to rest.
He grunted, sweating hard to right himself back into a normal position, head on straight, chin up, shoulders down.
His eyes opened briefly, the lids barely raised, taking in the orderly trickle of red hitting his favorite shirt. It was soaked in large patterns of sweat and blood. A small white button, its face upturned where his belly hung out over his belt, held a drop of blood that was slowly seeping through the four tiny holes, staining the white threads.
Round, even drops fell onto the neatly pressed pocket from the tip of a long lock of misplaced brown hair. It bothered Ray to know he’d be found with his bald spot exposed.
Panic came over him again, bile filling his throat. He tried to focus instead on all the times he had worn the shirt, putting himself in another room with different people.
He took in another deep breath and let it seep out between his lips, surprising himself. Something inside of him let go and the panic subsided.
It’s almost done, he thought.
Knowing he was at the end was making it a little easier. He stopped trying to figure out when things might get a little better. It was all a downward spiral from here.
There’s a certain satisfaction in that, thought Ray.
The pain in his head momentarily subsided as Ray took another quick inventory of his body, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t see the end coming. He was sure the moment was upon him and he didn’t want to know the precise second there would be no more chances, nothing left to worry about or hope he might get someday.
Ray silently counted the seconds between each blow, trying not to throw up. Another minute passed. Poor Stanley, he thought, as he watched the blood continue to trickle down his shirt. But I can’t let it happen to the others.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
One of the other men looked up at the small man before going back to pulling out drawers and shaking books.
“You know he had it with him,” said the little man.
“Yeah, then find it. You’ve had your fun, move on.”
Ray let out a small nasally whimper, his mouth quivering as he tasted the blood dripping from his swollen lips. “The Lord is my Shepherd,” he whispered, as he raised his head and opened his eyes for a moment just before a pillow exploded, its contents flying as his head slumped.
Chapter Three
Disasters happen slowly. But by the time everyone’s wringing their hands and calling their friends to let them in on the details, it’s done. The substance, the moments when the tragedy is agonizing and painful, happen in bits and pieces unseen by all but a few. Alice was figuring that out.
She stood in front of the 1993 green Chevy Celebrity that she’d always kept as neat as a pin, looking at the remains of her windshield. The splintered glass that spread out over the front seat sparkled in the late afternoon light making the vinyl appear fancier than its usual faded grey-blue.
Alice wasn’t even surprised at the destruction. She saw it from halfway across the lot and felt relief it was such a quiet message. She could explain this away to the garage.
It occurred to her to look back at the squatty yellow brick building she’d just emerged from to see if anyone else had noticed. She was struggling to appear more than resigned. The parking lot was deserted.
I don’t need this, she thought. I can let go and leave everyone to their own devices. If everyone doesn’t survive, so what. I didn’t start it. I don’t have to finish it.
She cupped her hand around her face to look in the back window, not ready to open a door and claim what had happened as her own. A glimpse of her yellowing, pale loose skin caught her eye as she raised her arm, making her feel a little more worn out.
I can leave, she thought, and start over one more time.
She saw a rusted crow bar on the back seat resting on top of square, blue bits of tinted glass. They weren’t even worried enough to hide what they’d done. That was the real message.
Alice needed her cell phone. She fumbled with her oversized faded brown leather purse, and for a moment she felt the excitement she had when she first bought the purse at Macy’s department store. She had just arrived in Richmond, Virginia and was looking forward to her new job as supervisor of the finance division in the city’s utility department. The purse was to mark the start of a new phase in her life.
This time she was going to build something permanent that was only hers, something no one could touch. No ex-husband to steal away half, which was really everything. Nobody can afford to buy back half of everything they have just to keep it, she thought.
The thought always made her screw up her face a little. She hated that part, that someone she hadn’t even laid eyes on in, what, ten years could still make her feel anything.
“This was supposed to be my new life,” she hissed, pushing on the tight clasp. It had become more stubborn over time, just like Alice, and made her thumb ache for a moment before it would relent and open wide, revealing all the contents at once.
She took out her dollar store reading glasses and put them on before finding her cell phone.
“Hello? Is Marty there? Marty? This is Alice Watkins, I own the green Chevy? Someone’s broken my windshield and I need a new one. Yes, vandalized. No, I’m not going to bother. They’ll only tell me they don’t usually
figure these things out. Could you come and replace it? No, I’m paying cash. Do I get a discount for that?”
Someone would be there soon. No need for Alice to wait by the car. Everyone at the station knew her. She could drop a check off in the morning. Marty gave her the usual senior discount of 10 percent off. Alice hated turning 55 last year and discovering she was sometimes stuck in the senior category.
She picked up her white cotton tote bag with the green handles and a large green tree on each side under the Ukrop’s Grocery store logo. They were an institution, founded in 1936 and well-loved by everyone in town even though they’d sold out to Martin’s and were even open on Sunday’s now. That’s why Alice had bought the sturdy sack. It was to let everyone know she was part of the old crowd, putting down roots. Packed inside was a pair of blue Keds with an empty water bottle, a worn paperback mystery someone had lent her, and some files from work she needed to get to tonight. She slid the straps over her left shoulder, balancing the weight with the purse in the other hand, and headed back toward the building and her cubicle.
Maybe everyone has left by now and no one will see me come back inside. Maybe I’ll never have to explain.
Alice took small, mincing steps despite being almost six feet tall with extra wide feet. Her feet were crammed into brown leather Clarke’s that matched her purse. The only brand she’d ever found that fit.
She got to the back door and punched in her security code slowly. Swollen fingers made it easy to punch two numbers at once.
“Damn,” she muttered, as she felt her finger mash down the six and the nine. Everything had become harder to do lately. Alice was permanently on edge. She jiggled the handle hard till it clicked, letting her start over. This time she tried using another finger and pushing with just the tip of her fingernail.
The handle started to turn as she pushed the last number and Alice backed up, waiting for whoever was trying to leave to emerge through the door. She took in small sips of air to steady herself and decided to say she had forgotten something. Keep it simple.
“Alice!” It was Lynn Hedgepeth. She sat in one of the smaller cubicles downstairs from Alice listening to customer complaints all day. She always looked distant and not quite all there. Alice figured that was how Lynn made it through a day.
“Hey, Lynn,” said Alice, trying to sound cordial as she pulled the door open a little wider to start to squeeze past Lynn, “forgot something.”
“Did you hear?” asked Lynn. Alice thought about acting like she didn’t hear her but she wasn’t in the door far enough to pull it off.
“Hear what?”
“Ray Billings, he’s dead. I heard it was an apparent suicide, whatever that means. Shot to the head just a little while ago. Hasn’t even been reported in the news yet. He seemed happy enough to me. Just goes to show. Didn’t he work under you? Weren’t you two working on some project together?”
Alice let her purse and Ukrop’s bag drop to the ground. The bag fell over and a shoe slid out, pulling a file with it. She let herself fall backward and sat down hard, her teeth clicking together. The crying started, grieving really, for what she could see was already gone. Maybe for what she might never have again. Some kind of simple life.
“I quit,” she mumbled.
Chapter Four
A cold snap had settled over the suburbs of Richmond during the night, making the tops of the trees heavy with frost. The tall pines bent slightly toward the ground, trembling in the cold wind. There was still another hour before sunrise.
Larry Blazney looked up at the trees and shivered as he pulled up the collar of his worn sheepskin coat, hunching his shoulders. His thick gray wavy hair was doing nothing to keep his head warm and the wind was easily cutting through the dark blue flannel pajama bottoms.
“Damn, it’s cold,” he muttered, giving the leash a shake to make Happy, his old yellow lab, stop sniffing and keep moving. “If you’re not gonna’ go there, keep movin’,” he said, his lips stiff from the cold. “Didn’t need a coat yesterday, today I’m freezing my butt out here. Damn Richmond weather. Come on dog! You’re trying my patience,” he said half-heartedly. He didn’t really mean it. Since his kids had grown up and moved out the dog was his pride and joy.
Happy was nosing the ground around the tall English boxwoods that lined the edge of the property in front of the neat gray Colonial. Larry gave a small jerk on the leash to try and make her start walking again. The large dog stumbled to the side for a moment and went back to the bush, burying her nose at the roots.
“What are you doing?” asked Larry, annoyed. He grabbed Happy by the collar and pulled her head toward him. The dog let out a low growl, her mouth shut firmly around something, as she tried to turn back to what she was doing.
“Oh, you think you’ve found breakfast, do you? A little road kill du jour?” Larry spread his feet wide and carefully grabbed hold of Happy’s jaws, prying them apart till she dropped what was in her mouth. The dog was old but she could put up some resistance to hold on to food.
“That kind of thing’ll make you sick, Happy.”
A small bone no bigger than the tip of his finger with the faintest bit of flesh still attached rolled out and came to rest at the tip of Larry’s shoe.
“What’s that?” he said, as he gave the bone a small kick to make it roll over. He held Happy back as he picked up the bone with his gloved hand, turning it around to get a better look.
“What have you found, girl?”
He walked toward the bushes, still bent over at the waist and brushed the dirt away uncovering two more small bones, the same size as the first.
He straightened up, feeling an ache in the small of his back.
“Oof,” he muttered, still holding on to the bone from Happy’s mouth.
Larry startled as he noticed the man slowly walking toward him from the other end of the street just as a cold breeze suddenly blew straight into his face making his eyes water.
He blinked hard and looked at Happy squatting by the bush getting ready to relieve herself, and gave the leash a hard pull till Happy gave up and started trotting slowly toward the man.
Larry let the small bone drop not noticing where it fell, and started walking again. “Probably some new dumb gardening tip,” he mumbled to himself.
“Morning,” he said, as he passed the man. The man nodded in return and kept moving. Larry stopped and turned back toward him.
“Your car break down?”
The man turned and looked at Larry, a faint smile on his lips as he squinted in the early morning sun. He didn’t answer and started to turn away.
“Your car? Wouldn’t it start in the cold?” The man turned back again and faced Larry. Larry took a few steps toward him as Happy trotted to catch up.
“Not too many people exercise in such a nice suit,” said Larry, admiring the open charcoal grey cashmere overcoat and polished wing tips. “You trying to walk to a bus line? Need to use a phone?”
Larry liked being helpful. He was raised on a farm just across the river and had never let go of some of the old ways even if he did sell the farm years ago to make way for a mall.
“No, have a cell phone,” said the man, patting his jacket.
“Oh, sure,” he nodded. “You must be new to the neighborhood. I pride myself on knowing everyone,” said Larry, smiling as he offered his hand to shake. The man made no effort to extend his hand.
“Larry Blazney, I live right back there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder from where the man had come from. “I’m the one with the purple door. That’s how people give directions around here. Go past the purple door and hang a left,” he said, letting out a small snort. “Was my wife’s idea. Which one’s yours?” He looked back toward home, trying to figure out which house nearby had recently sold. As he turned back he caught a glimpse of a leather shoulder holster.
Larry’s face gave him away, the surprise obvious in his raised eyebrows even if only for a moment. “Oh,” he said, as he quickly tried to
get back his easy-going smile.
The man hesitated and looked pained for a moment before he turned away from Larry and gave a small wave in the direction of Pump Road, the main thoroughfare that would be busy in just about an hour with people heading to work, but was deserted so early in the morning.
“Oh, you have a ride,” said Larry, looking at the dark blue Ford Explorer as it crept toward them. He felt a chill underneath his coat and a momentary fear passed through him. He turned to walk toward home, pulling on the leash to make Happy walk faster. “Come on girl,” he whispered.
Larry’s last glimpse of his quiet little neighborhood was of his neighbor Wallis, turning around and around in an upstairs window, looking down at the ground. He tried to cry out to her, make her look outside, but the soft leather glove clamped down over his mouth didn’t let any of the sound escape.
A man in the front seat of the Explorer got out, pulling a handkerchief out of his back pocket as he bent down to scoop up two small bones. He wrapped them up tightly, pushing the small collection into his coat as he glanced up at the panicked look in Larry’s eyes before his head was pushed down into the car. Larry was straining to see his purple door.
The man slid back into the front seat as he quietly shut the door, scanning the street for any movement.
Happy let out shrill barks as the car turned around and headed back in the direction it had come from. She chased the car all the way to Pump Road, the leash dragging behind her, but stopped at the edge and sat down to patiently wait. Larry had trained her to never try to cross Pump Road alone. It was too dangerous.
Chapter Five
Wallis Jones was in her bedroom turning around and around in a tight circle hoping to spot her other shoe quickly. Up, down, up, down, as first a naked foot hit the carpeted floor, and then a mauve, high-heeled shoe bought on sale at Marshall’s.
