Ravenous

by Ray Garton

  “The shouting?”

  “The shouting your neighbors say your husband does so much. At you.”

  “Neighbors? Really? Or just one neighbor? Mrs. Whitacker, right?”

  “Well, I, uh—”

  “Has anyone besides Mrs. Whitacker complained?”

  “Uh, no. To be honest, they haven’t.”

  “See? I thought so. That old woman—”

  “But wait, Mrs. Norton. I’ve been out here before, and I’ve talked to your husband about this. This has been going on awhile. And this is the first time I’ve seen you actually, uh ... banged up.”

  “I told you, I tripped over the vacuum-cleaner cord and I—”

  “Yeah, I know, that’s what you said.” He smiled. “But I don’t believe you, not for a second, so why don’t you drop the story. Use it on your neighbors and the cashier down at the grocery store. I know exactly what’s going on here, Mrs. Norton, and I’m here to tell you that every time your husband hits you, he breaks the law. You could have him put in jail. You could do it right now—all you have to do is tell me your husband caused those injuries and you want to press charges. I would then go to his place of work and arrest him. Then you’d have to testify against him in court. But it would put him in jail for awhile. And maybe, uh ... maybe you could use that time to figure out what you want to do with your life. You might ask yourself if you really ... really want to stay here and keep getting beaten up.”

  She gasped, but then her face, registering first anger, then fear, slowly relaxed.

  “I’ve seen it before, Mrs. Norton,” Hurley said, lowering his voice and joining his hands in front of him, one still holding his cap. “I’ve seen it. It just keeps getting worse and worse. And then he kills you.”

  A baby made loud sounds of delight inside the house, but Hurley ignored it. Then a child called, “Mommy!”

  “Just a second, honey, I’ll be right there,” Andrea said. A tear trickled down the side of her nose, then down past her mouth, to dangle from the edge of her jaw.

  “He won’t really mean to kill you, of course,” Hurley went on, almost without a pause. “He’ll be horrified when it happens. He’ll go just a little too far, is all. He won’t mean to kill you. But you’ll be dead. And your babies will be without a mother. And they’ll be raised by your husband alone. How would that be, Mrs. Norton?”

  She said nothing. The teardrop quivering at the line of her jaw finally let go and fell to its death. Andrea Norton’s eyes, which had been locked onto Hurley’s, now slowly wandered downward, and she turned her head slightly, until she was staring down at the top porch step.

  “Mommy!” the child inside the house called impatiently.

  “You think about that, Andrea,” he said, almost whispering now. “Think about it hard, but not long. Because you never know with these guys, when they’re gonna go two or three punches over their usual quota. A couple more punches, a little harder. Or maybe he’ll pick up a heavy blunt object and use that instead of his fists. You don’t know how much time you might, or might not, have. There are places you can go, people who will help you. Like I said, you can put him in jail today, right now.”

  The baby squealed and began to cry.

  “Mommy, pwease come here!” the child called.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve, uh, I’ve gotta go, okay?” Andrea said, but her voice was thick and wet now, and she did not meet his eyes with hers, which glistened. She turned away from him quickly, and clumsily pulled the screen door open and went inside.

  “I hope you’ll give it some thought, Mrs. Norton,” Hurley said as he put his plastic-covered cap back on.

  “Thuh-thank you, Sheriff,” Andrea said, her back to him. “I’ve got to go now.” She closed the front door. An instant later, the lock clicked.

  Hurley went down the front steps, left the yard, and crossed the street back to Doris Whitacker’s house.

  “Well?” Doris said, her thin arms folded over her flat chest. “Did you see? She’s been knocked around, hasn’t she?”

  Hurley nodded as he once again removed his cap. “Yeah, she has a black eye, Doris, and you were right to call.”

  “See?”

  “I had a talk with her,” he said. “I let her know she has options. Maybe she’ll think about her situation a little differently now.”

  “Ah, well,” Doris said with a flippant shrug of her shoulder, “I think they like it if you ask me.”

  “What?” Hurley said, blinking beneath a frown.

  “The women who stick around for it and never leave,” Doris said. “They get something out of it. They need it. They get off on it. That’s my theory, anyway.”

  Hurley sighed. “Look, now, are we square, Doris? Think you could stop calling us every time you see someone walking down the street? Now this, calling about your neighbor beating on his wife—that’s a legitimate reason and I’m glad you called. But really, Doris, please ... you’ve got to stop calling so many times a day.”

  “You told me to stop dialing nine-one-one, and I did,” Doris said.

  “Yes, you did, Doris, and for that, I’m very grateful. Now you’ve got to stop calling the non-emergency number, okay? Unless you’ve got a real emergency.”

  Doris frowned and cocked her head. “You only want me to call the non-emergency number when I have an emergency?”

  Hurley sighed and rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Doris. If you keep pressing me on this, I’ll just go ahead and put you in jail for it. There’s a law against it, you know—I’m not enforcing it, is all. Yet.”

  “You’d put me in jail?”

  “In a second, if I get so much as one more phone call from you, unless it’s a legitimate emergency. See, when I find out it’s Doris calling, I want to be able to think to myself, well, if Doris is calling, something’s really wrong, because I know she wouldn’t call for no reason. Do you think we can get to that point with you, Doris?”

  After a moment of thought, Doris sighed and bowed her head. “All right, all right,” she said, her voice quivering a little. “I-it’s just that, uh ... well, I ... I just need to know that, uh, that you’re ... there.”

  “We’ll always be there, Doris. We’re not going anywhere. I promise. We’re there when you need us.”

  Back in the SUV, Hurley felt ... sorry. He felt sorry for lonely Doris Whitacker ... for battered Andrea Norton.

  He turned on the radio, which played some loud rock and roll—Led Zeppelin. The album-rock station he listened to played nothing but hard driving rock and roll from back when there was such a thing. It made him feel good.

  He turned the music down a little when a call came over the other radio. He listened closely, hoping it was close by and he could take the call.

  He did not wan to go back to the station—he wanted to keep busy.

  10

  Disturbed

  Hugh precariously held the lunch tray on his left arm while he opened the bedroom door with his right. He went to the bed and sat down on the edge beside Emily, put the tray in his lap, and carefully reached out and touched the side of her sleeping face.

  She awoke with a jerk and a gasp and immediately pushed down on the mattress with both hands, dragging herself away from him, her eyes wide, lips parted. Then she blinked several times as she looked at him, as she looked around the room, her face shiny with perspiration. Her eyes closed slowly and she sighed. Her left eye was swollen and bruised and there was a small cut on her chin, another gash on her forehead, both covered by small white bandages.

  “Hi,” she said sleepily.

  “Hi. You didn’t eat breakfast, so I thought maybe you should have some lunch. I made you a tuna salad sandwich, and there’s a little potato salad, I’ve got an apple here, and a banana, and a Diet Dr. Pepper. You can eat all of it, or part of it, but I think you should eat something.”

  She nodded as she reached back and adjusted her pillows. She sat up with the pillows between her back and the headboard. “Thank you,” she said
.

  Hugh put the tray across her lap. “If you want anything else, just let me know.”

  “No, this is fine, really. It’s great, honey. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “How’s Jeannie?”

  “She’s had lunch, and now she’s taking a nap.”

  Emily nodded.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  She shook her head slowly. “I keep having this nightmare. I wake up from it, then go back to sleep, and I have it again. I keep reliving that ... horrible thing.” She picked up half the sandwich and took a bite. “And something else,” she said with a frown. “A house. I keep seeing this house.” She chewed slowly. “It hurts to chew,” she whispered. “Everything hurts. I even hurt ... between ... between my ... “ Her face screwed up and her shoulders began to hitch with quiet sobs.

  “Oh, Emily.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she moved away from him.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said with food still in her mouth. She pushed the tray down her legs and shook her head as she said, “I can’t eat. Take it away. Just go away, please. I want to sleep. That’s all. Just sleep. I need a couple more of those pills, then I’ll sleep. Please.”

  Emily reached over and took the orange prescription bottle from her nightstand. She popped the lid off and shook two Valium into her palm, swept them into her mouth, then drank them down with the glass of water on the nightstand.

  Hugh picked up the tray and stood. “Would you like to call the counselor and—”

  “No, just go. Please.”

  Hugh left the bedroom, frowning. She was still sobbing as he pulled the door closed. He went downstairs to the kitchen, put the tray on the table and went to the counter. He put his hands flat on the countertop and leaned forward, elbows locked, his head bowed between jutting shoulders.

  It was not like her not to eat. Hugh was concerned. Of course, the truth was, she could stand to lose a few pounds, but he knew this was not the way to do it. He felt guilty for so much as thinking it. He hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with her. Could her head injury be worse than first thought? Maybe Emily should still be in the hospital. Whom should he call to ask? He knew a lot of people, he knew medical people, maybe someone he knew would have some advice. But who? He couldn’t think, couldn’t line his thoughts up in a row because ... because ...

  Because he couldn’t stop thinking about Vanessa Peterman.

  He could look at his wife in bed upstairs, knowing she’d been through the worst experience imaginable, a horrible rape right beside the street—and at the same time, he would be thinking about Vanessa in some other part of his mind, thinking about what her breasts felt like under his hands, what her neck smelled like when he nibbled it. He might think about the amazingly sexy lingerie she wore for him, or about finding her smooth and shaven when he went down on her one day. She’d done it because he’d mentioned it in passing once, that he thought it might be fun, and she thought he might like it. It drove him insane. He did not want to stop kissing and licking and sucking on that perfectly smooth, soft, plush flesh. Even with his wife in her current condition, Hugh could not get his mind off Vanessa. On the one hand, Vanessa pleased him, preoccupied him—on the other, he felt disgusted with himself for it, and the guilt had gotten into his bones, deep, like arthritis.

  He went to the kitchen sink, ran the cold water, splashed some over his face, then rubbed his hands up and down from chin to forehead. He turned off the faucet, tore several paper towels from the role above the counter, and dabbed his face dry.

  I’m going to burn in hell, he thought. Sure as shittin’, I’m going to burn in hell.

  11

  First Time

  Andrea was washing loads of laundry and ironing Jimmy’s shirts; before that, she’d scrubbed the toilet and tub and damp-mopped the kitchen floor—she was tired. Her right eye was still swollen and dark. She’d held ice against it for awhile that morning, but it hadn’t done much good. Her lower lip was slightly swollen, too, around the small cut she’d received that morning.

  Andrea had put Marnie and Jenny down for their naps, and the house was quiet. At a quarter after three that afternoon, she poured herself a glass of chilled red wine, went to the living room, sat down in Jimmy’s recliner, and put her feet up with a long sigh. Even though she seemed to do nothing but work around the house all day, Andrea enjoyed her time alone—without the kids, and especially without Jimmy. She felt so relaxed when he was gone. The moment he left the house, she could feel the tension flow from her body, but the moment he came back into the house, she tensed back up—her chest and throat felt tight; she would jump at the slightest sound—and she remained that way until she went to bed. Even then, it always took her awhile to get to sleep. She could not sleep until he started snoring, until she knew that he was asleep and no longer a threat.

  She took a few sips of the wine. It felt warm in her belly and she relaxed even more. She picked up the remote and tried to find something on TV. She settled on an old black-and-white movie that was just starting.

  The doorbell rang and she put her wine on the end table. She opened the door to find Jason Sutherland standing on the porch. He wore black pants and a blue jacket over a plaid shirt, and he held a hardcover book in his right hand.

  “Hi, Jason,” she said, smiling. She enjoyed his company and was always happy to see him. He was a curiously sad young man. She suspected he was lonely—he had no siblings, and as far as she could tell, he didn’t seem to have many friends, either. He was always pleasant, and he made her smile, even laugh sometimes. Most of all, he listened to her like no one ever had. She felt like she could tell him anything, and she practically had. She had not known him all that long—a couple months now—but she already felt with him an intimacy that she’d never achieved with Jimmy, an emotional rapport that existed beneath the surface of their conversations. “Come in.”

  He came inside and she closed the door.

  “How are you, Andruh—oh my god!” he said. “Your eye! And your lip!”

  “It’s nothing, Jason, really, I don’t want you to—”

  “What do you mean, it’s nothing? It’s a black eye, is what it is. And a cut lip. Did ... did your husband—”

  “Just ignore it, okay? Please? For me? Just pretend it’s not there.”

  Frowning, he slowly nodded his head.

  Andrea placed a hand to the side of his face. “Thank you,” she said. She nodded at the book in his hand. “What’s that?”

  “It’s for you.” He handed her the book.

  Her face opened up with a big smile as she took the book in both hands. “Oh, a new one! Thank you, Jason, thank you so much. Let me pay you for it.”

  “Oh, no, it’s a gift.”

  “A ... gift?”

  “I know how much you enjoy his books, and that one just came in today, so I—”

  Andrea could not help herself. Her chest swelled inside, her throat burned, and suddenly, she was sobbing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she turned away quickly. “Come in and sit down.”

  “Andrea, what’s wrong? What did I—did I say something that—”

  “I’m sorry, really, just ignore me, it’s just me, that’s all.” She fought to get herself back under control. She went to the recliner, picked up her wine, and took three quick gulps, emptying the glass.

  Something about Jason’s kind gesture tore her up inside. It was the kind of thing she’d once imagined her husband doing for her. But of course, she never got any kind gestures from Jimmy—never any gifts or flowers or even a card now and then. Jason’s gift reminded her of that in a vivid way and it just tore her up, made her wonder how she got here, where she stood today, in this marriage, and the thought felt so big, so massive, that it completely filled her head and threatened to make her skull explode. Andrea shook her head back and forth a couple of times and sighed, trying to get rid of that smothering, overwhelming thought.

  “Sit down, Jason,” sh
e said, her back to him. She sniffled as she wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, the book tucked under her arm. “Can I get you something?”

  “Andrea, what’s wrong?” He was standing right behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder.

  Andrea turned around and stepped forward, put her hand on his soft chest, her head on his fleshy shoulder, still clutching the book in her right hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just so nice of you to give me this book. It just ... it reminded me how ... I don’t know, I’m juh-just ... I’m sorry.” Her body shook with sobs.

  Jason slowly lifted his arms and put them around her cautiously. He tried to say something, but only stammered, and finally fell silent.

  Andrea took a few deep, steadying breaths. The sobs subsided and she sniffled a few times. After some initial hesitation, Jason squeezed her warmly in his arms. Not unlike his gift, the hug reminded her of affection she never received. Even when they had sex, it was all for him, Jimmy did nothing but take, and it was always a violent experience. The hug reminded her of that, but at the same time, it made her feel good—it made her feel like she was really being hugged.

  “Oh, boy,” she said with a smile, “I can’t remember the last time I got such a great hug.”

  Finally, they pulled apart a little.

  “Okay,” Jason said. “What happened to your eye?”

  “Can’t leave it alone, can you?” she said with a humorless chuckle. “I could tell you I ran into a door, but ... you probably wouldn’t believe me. Would you like a glass of wine? I’m having one. I’ll get you some.” She stepped away from him, took her glass from the end table, and went into the kitchen. She put the book on the table, got a second glass from the cupboard and poured some wine into it, then refilled her own. When she turned around, he was right behind her again, and she handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” he said. “He hit you, didn’t he?”

  She nodded, still sniffling. “Again.”