As the sun flew higher it got hotter than a ninth-grade boy at his big sister’s dance recital in that concrete box. Never experienced anything like it in my life. Science is science no matter where on earth you ended up, but this heat defied anything I’d ever felt. Whenever I stood up from the wall my back left a wet patch that took a half hour to dry. Right after they left I took off my button-down shirt to wipe my forehead. Didn’t take long for it to become completely soaked through. I took off my T-shirt, rolled it into a ball around my other shirt and used it as a pillow.
We took turns at the window doing our best to suck up a little of the breeze. The only problem with standing in the door was how the bright light hit you right in the face. Me and Pauly ran out of stuff to talk about real fast.
We’d spent most of the afternoon trying to kick the door and hoist each other toward the high ceiling. Probably wouldn’t have gotten so sweaty if we’d relaxed and waited for whatever would happen next. The only good thing to come out of it was thinking if somebody had to save Katy, I’d have rather it been Ben than me.
Just admitting that felt like a punch in my gut. All that stuff I said to Katy earlier about keeping her safe and protecting her was talk. Bullshit musician talk.
Fantasy. Not that I ever fantasized about shit like this. Still, always figured I was more Han Solo than C-3PO.
“Somebody’s coming,” Pauly said.
I stood and pushed my face into the little opening. Into the sunlight. I could see the shape of individual trees if I squinted, but I couldn’t see the vehicle. I said, “It ain’t the cops coming back.”
“How do you know?”
“Diesel engine.” I knew who it was because I made the call. I just didn’t want Pauly to know yet.
The silver car rolled to a stop right in front of the door, shiny paint reflecting light right into my face. I held my hand up to shield my eyes. A door slammed shut and I heard the crunch of feet on gravel. Pauly pushed his face into the opening next to mine.
“Like two little rabbits in a cardboard box,” she said.
“What the fuck, Pres?” Pauly released me and backed away from the door, but not so far that he couldn’t see.
“Sorry, man. I called the only fallen angel I could think of.”
As she stepped closer I could see her. Wearing a plain grey dress with a black belt and sleeves down to her elbows, she examined my face through the grate. “It’s been such a long time.” She place her fingers through the grate and stroked my forearm. Her touch felt hotter than the day. “I always knew this time would come.”
“Hello, Danicka.”
“Why so formal?” When she spoke I felt her hot breath on my cheek. The sensation calmed me. “It is because you need something, I suppose.”
Trying to keep my head straight, I said, “For a while I couldn’t cross the street without thinking about you. Spent a lot of time watching my back.”
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Pauly said, “Don’t even talk to her.”
“To think I’d devote so much time and energy is arrogant, even for you. To think so much of yourself—that I must sit around with only you on my mind.” She didn’t blink when she talked. Her eyes never left my face. “In a way it is very, very sad.”
I listened for her accent, and the way she phrased her sentences. Like a guitar player, almost, choosing notes for more than one meaning. Now that I knew how she operated, I figured the playing field had grown more even than it had been last year. I said, “So you had something better going on tonight?”
Pauly chanted. A low mumbling whisper.
“As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to church now,” she shot back with a slight smile. “Do you know what they would say about this? They would say, ‘…the greatest of these is love.’ See? Not charity. I can still love you without helping you.”
Over my shoulder, Pauly mumbled, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”
“Just get us the fuck out of here, Dani. What’s that worth to you?”
“You know how it works.” She smiled. “Or do you? I’m not sure I benefitted from our time together quite as much as you.”
“Bullshit. I fought for everything and earned it outright. I wrote those songs. I busted my ass getting here.” I pounded the door when I spoke.
“Perhaps.” She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the door. She exhaled deeply. “Maybe I did like you a little, Preston. Maybe I thought I could manipulate you. You must admit that you are quite easy to push around. But now you know what you know. The price, the result, and the consequences are no longer secrets.”
“Just tell me what you want, Danicka.”
“Maybe a girl dies tonight. They’re either going to stone her or drown her, you know. But what’s it to me? Not a thing. Like that…” She cupped a hand to her ear, letting the sounds of distant peepers drift over the engine noise. “That’s what she is to me. That’s how much I care. But I liked you, Preston. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“So you’ll help me at the cost of me never being able to be with her again?”
“Your words. But they sound fair. Let the punishment fit the crime, yes?”
“What if I say forget it? Get out of here?”
“You invited me, Preston. I accepted. For that alone, you already owe me.” She waved her hand across the door. “This is negotiations and details. Interest rates and amendments.”
Pauly said, “What is wrong with you, man?”
Ignoring him, I said, “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me?”
“The old man at the cemetery said you were going to have to lose something. Perhaps this is what he meant? You can’t always get what you want.”
I said, pleading, “What about the assholes that took Katy? You should take them. Why can’t they be enough—”
“They are already lost souls. They don’t know it yet.”
For the longest time I couldn’t say what I felt in my heart. Because I knew she was right. The words never quite came how I wanted them to. Katy would’ve nailed it on her first try. But she wasn’t here. So I finally spit out, “Once this is over Katy is safe forever, right? No accidents, no sickness…”
“Preston!” Pauly pushed me away from the door. “What the fuck, man? What’re you doing?”
“She’s right, man. So what if I can’t have her. If she dies tonight I won’t have her anyway.”
“Give Ben a chance to find us. What the fuck did you even have to call her for?” He clenched his fists.
“Little brother trying to defend his big brother. I like it. Let me tell you this— in the name of fairness. People underestimate the power of hubris. Benjamin is not coming for you. This was a job for three people, at least. Not one.”
Pauly pushed me away from the door and pressed himself into the window. “Leave Pres alone. Take me.”
“See,” Dani said as a smile formed on her lips. “Hubris.”
“Shut the fuck up, Pauly.”
“Let him talk, Preston. He knows what he wants while you sit on the fence, praying for something when you don’t even believe. Paul prays yet still gives in to the greater evil. But he doesn’t interest me as much as you do.”
“Preston is easy.” Pauly spoke fast, his voice thick with panic. “He drinks. He’s lazy and he’s vain. He’s at least three or four more deadly sins into the list than I am.”
“Pauly…” I tried to pull him away and could feel him trembling. He pushed me across the room.
“I ain’t doing this for you, bro. I’m doing it for Katy.” Pauly laced his fingers into the wire covering the opening. “I’m a practicing Catholic and I’ve been sober for a year.”
I grabbed Pauly’s arm. He shoved me. Snapping like a dog on a chain, he said, “Sit the fuck down, Preston!”
His cheeks reddened, his words fell to the floor quickly, like dead leaves. “I got nothing. You got the girl, so you got everything to lose. Call it an early wedding gift. And in return I ge
t a little respect. That’s all I want from you, Pres. Just a little respect.”
I shook my head. “Pauly, fucking stop it.”
But he’d turned back to the window. Dani whispered into his ear, and Pauly nodded over and over again.
Pauly said, “I understand,” when she backed toward her car.
I felt sick. Like I’d have rather been dead a hundred times over.
Pauly folded his arms and retreated into the other corner.
“Danicka,” I said, anger pulsed through me. “You got something, now get us out!”
“Paul,” Dani opened her car door and stopped. “Tell your brother that you are safer here.”
With that, she got in, turned the key, and backed down the road.
“What the fuck did you do, man?” I grabbed his arm, shook it, then let it go. “I had this under control.”
It had been years since I’d been this angry and scared. I knew what I could handle. I knew what being in this situation with her felt like. I grabbed Pauly’s shirt and shook him. “What the fuck, Pauly! Why?”
I pulled him as close to me as I ever had. I hated myself for letting this happen.
But he wouldn’t speak to me. I turned toward the window and watched the sun slowly tumble down from high. The sky was so clear you could cut yourself on it.
“I don’t know, Preston.” Pauly finally broke his silence.
I turned and he rested his head back on his knees. “Tell me what the fuck I just did.”
I shook my head, and wanted to tell him to be positive. That I’d gotten through and we’d figure out how to get him through. But a tremendous explosion from the top of the hill took my breath, shook the metal roof. A wave of light rolled into the distance.
My hearing came back slowly.
A second explosion hit. This one more distant.
Pauly mouthed, “Ben?”
“No, man.” I shook my head. “This is Danicka. This is what you paid for.”
THE REVELATIONS OF KATY STEFANIC
Chapter Six
As an artist you get used to immersing yourself. Descending into endless seas of thought. Letting ideas come and go. Hanging on to a few. Letting the rest sink.
Every so often you tempt fate. You let yourself think. You hold your breath until the surface is so far out of reach only the shadow of an idea remains.
You get brave and try to touch the bottom. Surrounded by darkness. Blanketed with your blackest thoughts, your gravest fear. The longer you stay down, the less likely you are to make it back alive.
When you break through the surface again, kicking and screaming for air, you see that you’ve pushed everything away. Friends. Family. You didn’t mean to.
But you did.
It’s selfish—the idea of creating, airing your dirty laundry to entertain people.
With Preston, I knew I’d never be alone again. I knew he’d be waiting for me when I surfaced. Together we made our own little bubble out in the dead center of that endless sea of thought.
Having Preston meant I never had to return to shore.
Preston’s proposal seemed like a nice move at the time, particularly since he’d presented it so sincerely. The way he’d said it told me he’d really meant it. Sometimes, when he fibbed, his lip twitched like he was trying to hide a smile. He was all business back at the canyon though. No fibbing whatsoever. My gram always told me that boy had rocks in his head. It would’ve broken her heart to have found out it was probably all the weed.
The first time I went to look for the bathroom I walked right past it. A rack of travel mugs and pork rinds basking in bright fluorescent light was the first sign that I’d gone too far. I turned back to the old diner and saw the lady’s room door hidden behind a cigarette vending machine—the kind with the pull knobs.
Preston loved stuff like that—things that created nostalgia for a childhood he’d never lived. It never occurred to him that I’d spent far too much time in truck stops and bars begging my dad to come home to feel the same way. Don’t know why mom ever wanted him back anyway. Maybe she thought she could fix him, but he just beat on her and ran her down. He was the reason I couldn’t generate an ounce of sympathy for the “redneck pride” crowd. If it wasn’t for Preston, I’d never set foot in one of these places ever again.
Both stalls were locked, but I didn’t want to go back into the truck stop. Two pairs of shoes beneath the two doors confirmed that they were occupied. I coughed to get a reaction, shuffled my feet over the old linoleum to the hand dryers, then leaned over the sink to get a closer look in the mirror. Redness stuck to the corner of my eyes like old mascara. At least he had sense not to point out that I was crying, or ask what was wrong.
“Maybe I can get in real quick?” I said. “If y’all are finished.”
Y’all had been something I always said back home. Somewhere south of Clarksburg was true y’all territory, so I grew up half saying it, half being told not to. But my roommates up in Bennett Hall freshman year were from Richmond and Charleston, and I reacquired it in a big way without thinking too much about it. Y’all made me feel like I belonged down here. Even though the word sounded out of place at The Beacon and The Trocadaro, the crowds liked it because of the authentic images the word generated. That was why New Yorkers liked New York so much. They didn’t have to ever leave. The world came to them. Circuses. Authors. Art exhibits. Mountain folk, like me.
But once we hit D.C. and Charlotte, y’all felt more like a secret handshake. Y’all presented the audience with an assumed familiarity. Y’all felt like a mask you could wear whenever it was most convenient. It could make you that much cuter, more sarcastic, more earnest. Or you could say it to fit in. Or to exclude somebody else. Preston tried using it in Asheville and I told him during the set break that he needed to drop it. That they knew it didn’t feel the same coming from him. As soon as he returned to his yinz they relaxed.
“C’mon, ladies. I’ve been holding it for an hour.” I tapped my foot.
Neither of them acknowledged me in any way.
“Southern hospitality, my ass.”
I pushed the door open with a bang, The waitresses paid no mind to my commotion. They went about filling salt shakers and ketchup bottles like their lives depended on it. Preston only half-looked up from his phone. In a way I wanted him to see me. I’d smile, and let him know that everything really was fine with me. But he texted or
Tweeted, or pretended like he was checking email even though I know he never got any. As far as I knew, he didn’t even have an email address.
The bright lights of the gas station mini-mart pulled me out of the diner, like a daisy to sunlight. Wandering through aisles of atlases and books on tape led me to the other rest room. The one with the bright fluorescent lights and wall-mounted tampon dispensers. Through all the wandering around, I reminded myself that I didn’t really have to pee. I’d left to make a point.
When it happened, it happened so fast I couldn’t really yell or scream. Thoughts of Preston, all alone and waiting for me, filled my head as I kicked and twisted. But the hands gripped me like steel traps. I yelled, “Help!” but it came out more like a muffled whelp.
Always thought I’d be tougher.
Biting and pulling, I kicked an entire row of motor oil off a low shelf. The plastic bottles only made half the commotion I thought they would. I jerked and tore at the people who held me. They wrapped my hands with tape. There were at least three of them.
Surely, I thought as I kicked and twisted, somebody is calling the police right now.
As soon as I tried to scream again one of them jammed a washcloth into my mouth. I bit as ferociously as I could until I tasted blood. Somebody hit me, then put a sack over my head. Flour went into my sinuses, choking me.
I lost a shoe in the parking lot. My bare foot dragged on the cold, wet pavement. Music from a country radio station faded as they pulled me farther and farther from the truck stop. They lifted me into a vehicle and slammed the metal door sh
ut behind me.
Don’t stop fighting. That’s what they want.
Unless they hurt you.
Don’t let them hurt you.
When the vehicle accelerated the force rolled me right into the back door. Kicking the floor with my heel made a God-awful racket. The noise hurt my head, but it felt like I was accomplishing something.
Make them react.
Force them to change their tactics.
“You best stop that,” a woman said. “Or we’ll restrain you further.”
Don’t let them hurt you.
Be stronger.
Working my jaw loosened the gag. I pushed it out with my tongue, and shouted at full volume, “You shall judge nothing before the appointed time; you shall wait till the Lord comes.”
Always strong. Never ever weak.
Sudden loneliness fell upon me at hearing my own voice. My face got hot and the tears welled-up. I swallowed and swallowed to push them back down. Never weak.
My breath came in big gasps, and before I could even catch it fully, I said. “Corinthians. You all ain’t the only ones been to Sunday school.”
A woman began to speak, but quickly stifled herself. The next voice I heard belonged to a man. “A spiritual man judges all things—he himself is not judged. You speak with the devil’s tongue. You try to twist the words of the Good Book, but nothing can come against the truth.”
“Elijah Clay Hicks, I know you, and I know what kind of devil you are. I know you are not a Christian and you are not doing God’s work. I saw your face in Louisville, and the feds are looking for you after that bomb threat in Nashville.”
Vigorous squirming had worn me out, but getting myself into a sitting position gave me a sense of control. I said, “The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are all over his works.”
I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t even make out any light for the sack over my head.
The Revelations of Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 3) Page 14
