He hit something, he felt it, not something solid, but something squishy. The clothes hanger got stuck in the muck. He pulled back on it, and a darky gooey liquid trickled down the pipe. Tiny drops hit the bucket.
A scream echoed from upstairs. No words, just something yelling in pain. He was not even sure if it was his mother. The pitch was way outside her range. What the fuck? He didn’t poke her, did he? There was something squishy blocking the pipe.
“Daddy, daddy, where are you? Come here, come here fast.”
Lilly. Goddamn it, she was awake. His face burned with heat. His body raged against the house, this street, this universe. He couldn’t take it. He needed help. Get me a damn home health care nurse or nanny and fuck the insurance company bullshit. He rehearsed his talk with all of them in his head—Medicaid, protective service, social security disability, and all the rest as he dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The booze and Xanax fueled him.
Upstairs in the hallway, he saw both Lilly’s door and the bathroom door were wide open. He turned the corner and there was Lilly kneeling down by the tub. Her pajamas were wet and her face was full of tears. Her sobs whined in a helpless plea.
She was trying to pull her Grandma out of the bath, or at least what was left of her Grandma. Inside the bath was something Zach couldn’t recognize.
Sludge and gunk had wrapped itself all around his mother’s head. The hair from the drain had moved and was now all over her face. It had gotten into her mouth, into her nostrils, covered up most of her cheeks. She was still and lifeless, but the whites of her eyes peeked out. The eyes were blank, but she was alive and breathing. Just giving the Xanax stare.
Zach moved Lilly aside with force and reached into the tub. He yanked this time at his mother’s head with all his might, and right away her head was lifting up. The hair was stretching like taffy. He grasped his mom’s head as if it were a barbell and he was doing a curl. He grunted and felt his whole bicep engage.
Lilly stepped back, sat in the corner, but was watching. He needed to make this right. Oh fuck, why is she stuck and he needed to call 911. But then cops would come and protective service would know and he was already drunk with a swirling head that was about to blow.
But it was giving. Long stretches of hair that weren’t even hers were being pulled from the drain. His mom’s body was nearly fully sitting up, and her neck tilted forward but still attached to the sludge. Was she breathing? Was her heart beating? Was it just the Xanax that put her out?
One more tug and it would break free. The whole big patch of it seemed to be sliding up the pipes. It wouldn’t be much longer. His mom would be free and he’d clean her up and put her down to bed.
More tugs and grunts and SPLOT—the whole thing popped from the drain.
His mom was out and free. The gunk of hair was in his fist, and out of the sewer line attached to the handful of hair he held so tight was the head of Latrice. His infection. Lilly’s mother, was back.
Zach looked down at her face. Her flesh was like a corpse that had been in water and nibbled at by fish. Her cheek had melted away revealing her jaw, but her deep eyes and infectious glance was still present. The earrings he gave her twelve years ago were still attached—fake diamond studs. The lips he kissed were there but had shriveled, unmistakably hers. The same mouth he had put a pillow over until she died was moving.
Then the mouth spoke.
“Stop being so rotten Zachary. Why are you so rotten?”
The words mocked, they enraged. He felt steam shooting through him and with one hand grabbed the rusty scissors off the sink. He held Latrice’s head up by a handful of her hair, and began puncturing.
“Stop being so rotten Zachary, stop being so rotten.”
The words kept coming and echoed like a wicked parrot, and each time he heard it he stabbed the tiny pair of scissors into her head. He sliced her cheeks, the sides of her neck, into her eyes especially—he needed to dot out those eyes. The last time he saw them was at her death, and this time he poked them right out until they were mush. The rusty metal scissors sliced and diced.
When his roars of rage died down, Lilly was in the corner of the bathroom, rolled up into a ball with her hands over her eyes.
And in the tub was her Grandma. Her body was limp. Her hair swayed in the water that had now turned red as if tomato paste. And her face was pecked apart like a scarecrow that the birds no longer feared. Her eyes were fully gone, having been punctured a dozen or more times, and much of the flesh had been ripped off her face. Stabs into her neck made blood flow like a waterfall into the bath water.
There was no sign of anything else. No Latrice. No dismembered head—only a dead, old woman bathing in her own blood.
What happened?
“You seen that? You seen that? You seen that right Lilly? You seen what I seen?”
Chapter Thirteen: Lilly and the Day Everything Changed
“You seen that? You seen that? You seen that right, Lilly? You seen what I seen?”
His voice had that rage which dared me to even think different. I needed to stay still and agree or he’d be angry and hurt someone else. I could feel it. Don’t say much, don’t admit any truths. And don’t look down and to the left when you talk. I did not see whatever it was he was talking about.
“Yes, Poppa, I saw it.”
Poppa. I said Poppa. I hadn’t said Poppa in years, but why did I say that? And what did he see that I hadn’t? I had covered my eyes with my hands as soon as I saw him swing the scissors at Grandma. When I had opened them, I wished I hadn’t. My grandma was in a bath of her own blood, and her eyes were still open and staring at the ceiling. Her mouth was open, too, like it was stuck in a scream. And my dad had killed her.
“It was her, Lilly. It was your momma. Your momma was here. In the bath”
All I could see was mushy stuff all over Grandma’s face. Her body was floating in the bloody mess of the bathtub and her skin was changing colors.
My dad put his hands in the bath searching frantically under the water. Her body moved about, dead as a floating log, and tiny waves of blood bounced against the side of the tub.
“You saw her, you saw it. You did, right? Where did it go? Where did it go?”
Dead. He murdered her, and he was my crazy dad now. I hated when he talked like this. When he smelled like this. Like he was full of drunkenness and anger. The craziness spun around him, and his words starting spinning in a whirl that I was getting caught up in. Everything was changing for good tonight. I wrapped my arms around my gut, clenched each muscle, and waited for it to end.
“The head. It’s here. In this house. What’s happening? I have to see. You have to see. You don’t know how this works. You burn and bury but maybe not. Maybe I did it wrong. Maybe she got out.”
His words smelled of his insides. Grandma was dead and my insides were dying too. If I could see them, I am sure my insides would look like the bathtub looked.
“I got to find it. I didn’t do this. This isn’t real. Space is lost, time will come back. You stay here. Stay right here. Stay here. Stay.”
I sat perfectly still, and looked up at him with an obedient nod. He darted out the door and I was left alone. His words hung in the air but his craziness left with him. I heard him rummaging through the garage and the clang of tools and clamoring of metal. This was bad.
Everything was falling apart.
I sat in stillness with Grandma. Not a sound, just my heart thudding, and once in a while a drop of water from the faucet. Drip, drop, with long pauses in between. Grandma’s body changed, greyed, and seemed gentle in the bath. It was sweet, even, the way her body floated in the tub. I felt like there was a peace right now that was better than what had just happened, and better than what was about to come. I was nestled small but secure in-between the wall and the toilet, just a turtle inside its shell.
Grandma needed me there with her, I think. Like one of those funeral homes were people go to see the body, but it was jus
t me. Like I was the new woman of this block. I thought of reaching out to touch her, to try and hold her, but it would have felt wrong. She was so still. Perfect. Peaceful. Grandma had lived a long time, and to do that on this street meant she won. The street didn’t get her. People here die all the time from guns when they are 20, or they go to jail for 30 days or to the hospital to get their legs amputated. Grandma has been through all that with her kids, her sons, and she survived.
Until now.
If Dad can do this to his own mom, what might he do to me? Whatever he did, I would take it like Grandma did. I was tired of my body and wanted it to change. I looked at the way the blood swirled out of her neck and made circles in the water, little traces, like watercolor paints. I didn’t want that, but what was left for me here?
I sat and listened for an answer in the drips. They dripped like a clock that ticked too slow and didn’t tell me much. Just a high-pitched dripping sound that filled my head and then echoed through my aching body before disappearing. Time ticked on that way. I was waiting for something to happen next, felt like I should get up and get help, but I couldn’t. Nobody else can know my business. I can’t tell them. If they try to take me away, it will be somewhere bad. And if they do it is my fault.
I don’t know how long I waited, only that every other plan of doing something other than waiting was not going to work. With no H to make me feel love inside, with no real protective service, with nothing but my dad, I was here until he came back.
Finally, there was a whooshing sound from the front door opening, and then the pounding of my dad’s feet rushing back to me. Something important was being delivered. His panting breath arrived before he did.
When he rounded the corner and stood at the door, I saw him with a shovel in one hand and his pants covered in mud. A trail of dirt followed him. He dropped the shovel, which clanked to the floor.
In his other hand was a round, grey rock, that he palmed like it was a basketball. He was too tired to speak, so both of us waited for him to catch his breath. I pulled my legs up into my chest and put my hands on my face. I was ready to cover my eyes again soon.
“You see this?” he yelled, and held up the rock. “I got it. It is here. We need to unburn the house and unbury the truth. It starts with the head.”
He tossed the grey ball into the bathtub and it splashed near Grandma’s feet, making waves in the red water.
My hands went over my eyes at first, afraid to see the truth he was telling me, but I spread my fingers apart and saw what it was. A skull. There was a skull floating in the bathtub, bobbing a bit, almost ready to come to rest.
It was not like one of those clean skulls you see for doctors to study, but an ashy grey one that looked part burnt up, part torn apart. Vacant eye sockets looked sideways and right at me.
“Lilly. That is your mother. I got her for you. See?” He pointed to the bathtub. “She’s been dead. I can’t tell you why. You don’t need to know that. You only need to know she can’t hurt you anymore. She wanted me to kill you, to take care of you like I do. Well, I did take care of you.”
I tore off some toilet paper to rub the mucus and tears from my face, and I looked up at him. His voice sounded scared, loving, almost sweet, and unlike what I had ever heard. It was like I was looking at him as a five-year-old child, even though the lines on his face were deep and tired. There was danger in his eyes, but they weren’t scary to me, they just looked damaged. I put a hand on his cheek. He was warm and clammy. Sweaty. Defective.
“She can’t hurt you, see? If I had a mommy, I would take care of her like you do.”
Dad was repeating what I had said to him in my bedroom. He remembered it. We stared at each other in the corner of the bathroom still thinking on these words when I heard someone else in the house. Someone with boots, and the steps got closer. Somebody was here and coming towards us, but my dad didn’t seem to care, he stayed there kneeling in front of me, hypnotized or frozen. His sweat smelled of alcohol, but cold, like the outside air was still on him.
The noise of stomping boots got closer, and around the corner, I saw who it was. The Red-Man. He was here.
“You got things that are mine.”
Dad’s head turned, and he started to leap up, but the Red-Man was on the attack. He was holding a big piece of led pipe, and swung it with two hands at my dad in a baseball swing. By the time it crunched on my dad’s head, I was back in my dark world behind my hands and fingers, not seeing but hearing the thwack.
“You got things that are mine.” Another whack followed, but this one sounded like it hit his gut. “You ain’t no Daddy, you see, and you got things that are mine.”
My dad cursed, a long angry one, but it was cut short by a mushy thwack sound, and another, and another, until Daddy cursed no more. I heard a splash from the bath water and the Red-Man grunted and howled like a beast. I peeked between my fingers and there he was, my dad in the bath. His face was a mangled, purple mess and blood was gushing from his nose into the bath.
I couldn’t hold back the tears at all this time. My eyes were puddles of mud.
Chapter Fourteen: Lilly Has To Go to the Basement
“They take my house, they take my family. They been taking things forever.”
The Red-Man screamed this, but not at me, but at the pile of bodies in the bathtub. My father was on top, eyes closed, blood streaming from his nose into the water, and the side of his head bruised purple. His blood was thick, nearly chunky, not like Grandmas, which was thin as water. Grandma’s skin was turning different shades of dark, like a grey rainbow, and at her feet was the skull. Just a part of what could be my mother.
I wasn’t even sure if the Red-Man knew I was there until he turned to me
“Check date is tomorrow. I get money then but I need a house. A new one. Well, I’m taking this one. Burning down this house and then coming back to live here.”
“Why? Why?” I cried. I couldn’t believe I could even talk. My insides trembled like I was freezing to death.
“You let them board up my house and left me there. You ran from me. And this dad who says he’s raising you. You call him Dad? You know he killed Oscar don’t you know? Burned him right up. Reaping what he sowed. Getting what he deserves, you see. Everything is changing tonight.”
He was right, and I knew that. Nothing would be the same.
“You, you have a choice. You can stay with me and burn it down, or I can do you like the others and put you in the basement. What will it be?”
“Don’t touch me again. My uncle is next door. Police are coming. “
“Get to the basement. Get there now.”
I would not go to the basement. I got up out of the corner and dashed by him. Where to run? I didn’t know, so I grabbed the shovel in the doorway and swung it at the Red-Man. It made contact, right in the knee, and the metal gonged like it was a musical instrument. He cussed in pain. I was free.
I was quick to the front door. Go to Nelson’s. Someone will help. Go there. My hand grasped the knob and started to spin. The door was locked. It wouldn’t move. I twisted the lock with shaking hands and turned the handle again. The door opened. Fresh, cold air seeped in.
Slam.
The fresh air was cut right off. The Red-Man was behind me and his outstretched palm smashed into the door and forced it shut. I turned, looked up at his eyes, which already seemed to be on fire.
“The basement. Like Oscar, you’re going down with this house. You can stay there forever, and talk to me from the ashes. Talk to me like Oscar.”
He grabbed my arm and his skin burned hot. I tried to twist but couldn’t. He was full of more anger and crazy than my dad ever was. By the time his other arm snagged me, all the twists and kicks with my legs to break free didn’t matter.
The basement door was open and easy to find. He carried me there like a doll.
“After it burns, then we can talk.”
He dropped me at the top of the stairs and slammed the basement door. I
fell down one step and grabbed the handrail to not fall all the way. I waited there. I heard shuffling. I pushed the door back open and he slammed it shut again.
“You stayin in there. It’s okay. Don’t be scared of the basement.”
I waited. Would he hurt me? Maybe not. He’s crazy, and I can stay down here until daybreak. Protective service will come to save me, take me away to a new family. They will be here soon. Just one night in this dark, stinky basement. I can do that. When you get hurt this bad and scared like I am, something has to come in and save you, right? Both my parents are dead, that’s why James had to escape in the peach.
I sat on the top stair and looked down. The staircase seemed like it was covered with bathtub blood. It felt like something down there was waiting for me. Breathing. Something that could only live in basements and wanted me with it. I hated it. Whenever I came down here, I’d just grab laundry off the pile quick as I could, turn off the light behind me, and run fast so the dark couldn’t catch me. I tried to stay in the light.
No, this wasn’t safe.
I turned the basement doorknob again. It twisted. I pushed, but nothing. It was blocked. Something big blocked the other side. I smashed my shoulder into the door but it didn’t give. I was trapped, and had to go down.
Chapter Fifteen: Jervis Makes Plans
This house would do, but how to burn it? He looked about the room, and saw a bottle of 100-proof vodka. It sat on the table like a can of gasoline delivered from God. He would drink some and pour the rest on the curtains, on the walls, on the furniture, and watch it ignite.
He had lighters in his pocket. This place would burn. Firemen would come 30 minutes later and hose it down, not enough to save it for normal people, but enough for someone like him. Enough that others would abandon it and leave the house so he could come back.
The girl would be here, the ashes of her mother would be here, the man who burned down Oscar would go down—all of it. Jervis was master again. He would watch it burn from the street. He could find somewhere to stay for a few days, and then come back when everyone had gone. He’d return after check date, 3547, with money. A real master again in a new house abandoned by everyone. But he’d live here with all he knew—his girl in the basement, her mother in the tub, and his new family all here.
Milk-Blood Page 10
