by Mike McCrary
Davis looks to Hattie. He knows her. Her brain is churning, working a plan.
“We’re way past pictures now. This is different, a special set of circumstances,” Justin says. “The money we’re talking about now is far too big for that shit. Now we’re talking daughters in a trunk and a gun to a wife’s head type money. Congrats, man. You’re moving on up.”
Hattie locks eyes with Davis.
She bites her lower lip.
She’s using our signal.
Their wordless signal that something needs to be done. Davis fights to not show anything on his face.
“Listen now. We’re running a special for today and today only. We’re going to give you the wife back, but we’re taking those girls with us. That is until we can work out a fair trade. I’ll even let you set the resolution date. That work?”
Hattie nods slightly.
Davis does the same.
Justin cocks his head birdlike, confused.
Hattie slams the back of her head into the bridge of Justin’s nose. His head whips back hard with a crunch of bone and a spray of blood. Hattie shoves Justin’s gun arm clear from her head stumbling free toward the car that has her girls.
Davis rages hard at Justin.
Justin spins around like a top, firing wild blasts.
A bullet cuts into Davis’s shoulder. Doesn’t even slow him down. He crashes into Justin like a runaway train. They bounce off Davis’s SUV behind them. Spit flies from Davis’s mouth as he grabs a fistful of hair pounding Justin’s head into the side of the car. A primal scream leaves his throat as he slams his head over and over again. Indecipherable words pour out from deep inside of him.
Justin jams his fists into Davis’s chest pushing him off just enough, creating some space between them, allowing him to squeeze off three shots. All three bullets whiz past Davis as he spins and drops to the gravel. One bullet removes half of the green-eyed beauty’s head. Her body slumps, then slides off the trunk to the ground. The other two clunk into the trunk of the BMW.
The gunshots echo, fading quickly into crushing silence.
Hattie screams until the cords in her throat rip. Her children, her babies, are in that trunk. She runs hard toward the car, her eyes zeroed in on the two holes torn into the metal. Tilley grabs her arm, then her hair, pulling her down to the ground. Veins bulge and pop in Hattie’s neck as she falls backward.
Davis lands a punch to Justin’s jaw then another to his chin. Justin is getting weak, legs giving out. Davis is gaining strength with every punch, knowing every blow is getting him closer to getting to his girls. He grabs Justin’s gun hand, gripping it hard, fighting to knock the gun loose. Davis yanks Justin’s forearm down with everything he has. There’s a crack of bone as his arm tears the rearview mirror off the side of the car. The gun falls to the gravel and Davis manages to kick it free, moving the gun a few feet away from them.
Hattie flips over, jams her palm into Tilley’s face, then kicks her in the stomach. Tilley falls back then dives at Hattie as she scrambles in the rocks, moving toward the car.
Justin jams his forearm into Davis’s throat. They fall back onto the driveway. Punches miss, then land. Screams and grunts fill the night air. Legs fight for ground, feet skidding in the rocks, each one of them fighting to gain control.
Davis lands a fist to Justin’s battered nose, then jams a thumb in his eye. Justin drifts just enough for Davis to shove his hands into Justin’s chest knocking him back. Giving him a sliver of space. A chance. Davis pulls himself through the gravel on his hands and knees to the gun. Justin jumps up, racing toward him.
Davis grabs the gun, turns, fires two blasts into Justin’s gut. Justin falls backward to the ground, his face pale, shock locked into his eyes. This was not part of the plan. Everything is coming undone. Davis sits up, levels the gun on Justin, then turns the gun toward Tilley and Hattie. They’re a mass of twisting, spinning, turning rage. Impossible to get a clear shot.
Justin’s hands fumble, finding a large stone. He throws it hard at Davis’s head.
Davis fires again, missing to the right, blowing out the window of the SUV. The stone hits Davis in the side of the face. His sight goes white, then returns to a fuzzy version of the world.
Justin is on top of him now, swinging like a man possessed. Justin’s fists crash into the side of Davis’s head. He can barely see Justin as his vision is fading, failing him. The white is back and taking over his sight quickly. He feels himself slipping away, as if sliding into a warm, milky bath.
Davis raises the gun with everything he has left, firing a blind shot. It cuts harmlessly out toward the stars. Justin slaps gun to the side. Davis’s hand falls limp and the gun slips from his fingers. His consciousness is all but gone. He can only make out shafts of sight through the spots of white that grow and mutate.
Justin has found a much larger stone. It’s raised above his head poised to slam down for the kill. His bloody face shines in the moonlight. A demon of the night with a smile on his face, waiting to bring death down on what’s left of Davis.
Davis blinks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. To Hattie. To the girls. Himself.
Justin’s body jolts hard, knocked away from Davis. Hattie rolls off to the side of him. The force of her dive sends Justin hard to the right and her rolling into the rocks. Davis’s senses slam together, back online if only for a second. His fingers find the gun. Justin pops up.
Davis fires a shot into his chest.
“No!” Tilley screams, racing toward him with a knife in her hand.
Davis turns, firing twice. The shots rip into Tilley, stop her cold, drop her to her knees. Blood spurts and drips from her chest and stomach. She gets to her feet, the knife still in her hand. A cough of blood spits and strings from her lips.
Davis pulls the trigger.
Click.
Hattie drives her foot into Tilley’s knee, shoving her aside. Tilley slumps to the ground while Hattie sprints to the car. She bangs on the trunk, screaming for her children to give her a sign. Davis watches while on his knees. Mouth open wide. Listening. Hoping.
Hattie presses her ear to the trunk with arms stretched wide over it. Tears stream, roll and land on the car’s steel.
Davis walks toward the car, watching his wife’s every move, his body seconds from collapsing. His need to see this through is stronger than the pain. He fights the urge to fall. The urge to give up. To fail.
Hattie talks sweetly into the trunk, her words morphing into a song. Davis’s knees shake upon hearing his wife sing softly. He’d watch her sing to their girls every night when they both were only babies in her arms.
There’s a thump. A thud mixed with the muffled screams of little girls.
Hattie jumps from the trunk, spinning, looking toward Davis. Their eyes fill, they both breathe again. Davis looks around. He bends down to the green-eyed beauty’s lifeless body, searching for the keys to the trunk. He hears the gravel crunch behind him.
“Davis,” Hattie says.
Turning, he sees Tilley moving Justin toward the other BMW, his arm over her shoulder. They seem to be carrying one another, like warriors after a battle lost. Their bodies beaten, their wounds seep. Tilley slides Justin into the passenger seat, then braces herself along the car, making it to the driver’s side.
Justin clucks his tongue as he shuts the door.
The BMW’s engine fires up and the car backs out of the driveway. Leaving.
There’s a distant sound of sirens.
Davis finds the keys in the green-eyed beauty’s pocket. He tosses them to Hattie then slumps down, sitting in the driveway. Hattie’s fingers fumble as she presses down hard on the button to release the trunk.
A bleep. A blink of taillights. The trunk pops open.
The girls pop straight up. Hattie hugs them both as tight as she can while looking them over. Checking, searching for wounds, cuts, anything. They are scared and trembling, but not hurt. Hattie rushes, grabbing the knife from the g
round. Fighting the shaking of her hands she cuts the ties free from her girl’s wrists.
Davis smiles, then falls over to the side, feeling himself slip back into the warm, milky bath again. This time he doesn’t fight it. He closes his eyes, letting himself sink into the abyss. Hearing his family cry, his wife trying to give comfort to their children for the impossible night they’ve had to endure, Davis catches a last look at them. A snapshot of an image. His family with arms wrapped tight around one another. Safe. A new image to hold on to in his broken brain.
He shuts his eyes.
The world slides away from him.
Darkness slips its fingers into his, leading him far away.
38
The grip is loose.
His hold on the here and now is so slight he’s not sure if he’s even alive.
He’s felt movement from time to time. Pin pricks. Voices. Jolts. Lifting, then falling. Flashes of light followed by dark.
He can’t remember the last time he opened his eyes, the last time he saw anything outside of his own head. There’s little sense of time and space. Life crawls, inching along in complete slush. Then there are moments where he seemingly floats in and out of dreams before slipping into nightmares. All of it jumbled, tangled up with memories of recent days that scratch at the darkness.
He relives his time at the Viceroy hotel bar in Los Angeles. He’s been through it many times in his mind. The reality of what happened is replayed like a movie on constant repeat. He’s also run through fantasy versions of the same story. Revisionist history versions. He’s envisioned one where he walked away the second that Tilley slid into the seat next to him at the bar. There’s another version where he never left his room. Stayed there alone watching TV, talking on the phone with his family, then falling asleep. There’s a self-serving version too. A fun version. The one where he kicks Justin to the floor, then beats him with a chair. It’s become his favorite. Gives him comfort, a feeling of control. Power for the powerless.
“That’s cute,” Justin says in the darkness.
Davis opens his eyes.
Davis?
An unseen, faraway voice calls his name.
He finds himself lying in the plush bed back in the Viceroy hotel room where he woke up days ago. He’s dressed in nothing but the black silk boxers, as he was when he came to in LA. Justin stands above him dressed in his slick, dark suit and red tie, with Tilley standing by his side. She’s back to soul-melting seductress. The green-eyed beauty stands by the door with her knife in hand, picking at her nails with the edge of the blade.
Davis?
He hears someone call out again.
“I told you what I was going to do to you,” Justin says, playing with Davis’s hair. “The first time we met, I told you exactly what I was going to do.”
“What?” Davis asks. He remembers Justin saying the same thing at the lake house. “I don’t understand.”
Davis?
Tilley shakes her head in disappointment before moving toward the dresser. There are two ice cream containers sitting next to the card with Davis’s name on it. Davis stares at the ice cream. There’s one chocolate, one peanut butter. Tilley takes them both, then exits the room along with the green-eyed beauty.
Davis, please talk to me.
“Justin, I don’t understand,” Davis says as his panic inches up. “What did you tell me you were going to do?”
“Shhhh. Give it a good think,” Justin says, pressing a finger to his lips. “Get some rest, Big Fun. You’ve had a tough go.” He clucks his tongue.
Davis, are you awake?
39
Davis jolts awake.
A sharp spike of pain fires through every part of him.
His eyes flutter, blink, struggle to find moisture as they battle to adjust to the harsh light of the room. His tongue feels thick, his mouth dry as a funeral drum. There are odd sounds to the room. Slight, gentle sounds, but mechanical and rhythmic. A series of soft clicks and faint beeps surround him. Annoying and soothing at the same time. The smell of bleach or some sort of industrial-style cleaner burns, filling his nostrils. The world around him feels very still. Stagnant but calm.
Very different from when he was last awake.
As he moves his hands around, his fingertips glide over a set of plastic tubes that run along the side of his arm. Stuck into his arm actually. There’s tape holding it all together, connected to something unseen. As his sight starts to come back to him, he can make out an outline of someone standing over him.
Davis?
He pulls back hard, not sure who it is.
“Hey, you decide to come back?” Hattie says.
Davis’s eyes dart and dance, searching the room. They were here. He knows they’re still here somewhere.
“Where are they?” he asks, his voice shaking.
“Who?”
Davis’s head jerks from side to side, scanning the area. He’s in a bland-colored box of a room with minimal decoration. A cheap picture in a frame hangs on the wall. A brownish chair. A spattering of flowers sit here and there. The clicking, beeping machines stand on rollers near his bed, flashing the occasional light. He’s cloaked in white sheets tucked tight into the bed.
A far cry from the Viceroy.
“I’m in a hospital?” he asks, knowing the answer.
Hattie nods. Her face hangs, bags heavy under her eyes. Looks like she hasn’t slept in days.
“Justin, the others. I just saw them. They were here—”
“They’re dead, Davis,” she says.
“What?”
“I’ve talked with the police over the last few days and—”
“Days?”
She nods. “State troopers found them on the side of the road a few miles from the lake. They bled out in their car trying to get away, apparently.”
Davis can’t believe it.
Is it over? Is that possible?
Hattie touches his head, running her fingers through his hair. Like he felt Justin do only moments ago. Davis realizes now that it was Hattie trying to sooth him by playing with his hair. Calling his name. His mind was tricking him, betraying him.
Again.
His arm hangs in some kind of sling. His shoulder is heavily bandaged. He remembers being shot by Justin. The blast echoes in his mind. He still hears it ringing in his ears. The violence, the screams, the thick thumps of fists beating on flesh sound off as if it were happening right now. He lies back down into the bed, grinding his teeth as his head reaches the pillow. Every part of him burns and aches, but none more than what’s inside his skull.
Hattie steps back, reaching for the table.
“Sorry. I thought they were here,” Davis says, fighting the dryness in his throat.
Hattie holds a cup with a straw in front of his lips so he can drink. As he sucks down the water he looks at his wife, letting his eyes take her in while the rest of him tries to understand what’s happened. She’s here. She’s been here the whole time. No telling how long she’s sat here waiting for him to come to. From the corner of his eye he sees a scattered stack of magazines, an open book by the chair. She’s worn out. Her face screams to him how tired she is.
There’s something else there, however. He can see that in her face as well. There’s a turning of thoughts and feelings going on behind her eyes. Some people might miss it, but to him it’s so plainly obvious.
Davis pulls back from the straw. “Thank you.”
Hattie nods, taking a step back from the bed and placing the cup back on the table. She swallows hard, as if preparing herself for a conversation she’d rather not have. A talk she never imagined having to have. One no woman wants to have with their husband.
“This is probably not the right time—”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
He’s not, but Davis nods anyway.
“The police told me everything. What Justin did. What he does.” Hattie looks down. “What he did to you.”
Davis chews on the inside of his mouth. An odd feeling of relief creeps over him. It’s all out in the open now, finally. Facts that he’s tried so hard to keep away from her are now exposed. For better or worse.
“I saw the pictures too,” she says.
“Those weren’t real.” Davis sits up fast, ignoring the pain. “They staged all that to get to me—”
“I know.” She gently helps him lie back down. “Why?” Hattie asks, adjusting his pillow. “Why didn’t you tell me what was happening?”
“I had to handle it.”
“Davis, come on.”
“I did what I thought was best.”
“By not telling me anything?”
“It’s the truth. I was trying to protect you."
“Oh?” She stops herself from what she’s about to say. Her face has shifted to red. She takes a deep breath. “All that was for my benefit?”
“Hattie—”
“It’s not the pictures, Davis. The police looked at everything. I know about the money problems you hid from me too. I know about how bad things got with the business. The meetings that went wrong. You moving money around in secret behind my back. You made up that story about us needing to go to the lake without putting any thought or concern into what might happen to me. To the girls.”
“How are they? Where are the girls?”
“They’re okay. Far from perfect, but okay considering."
Davis looks away, staring at a corner of the room.
“I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make. Not alone, Davis.” She shakes her head, working it through while speaking. “You didn’t even give us a chance to try and work it out. Nothing. You didn’t tell me anything but the bullshit stories you decided to feed me.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“You lied to me.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“You talk to your wife. You tell your wife what the hell is going on.”
Davis turns away, knowing everything she’s saying is true.
“What are we supposed to do now?” she asks, almost pleading for an answer she knows doesn’t exist. “Pretend that everything’s fine? Oh great, the bad guys are dead, so we just move on like none of that happened?”
