The Unremembered Girl: A Novel

by Eliza Maxwell

  Henry could see Gus nod emphatically. Slowly, Del lowered the other man’s feet to the ground and allowed the air to flow back into his lungs.

  “How many men are inside? And don’t even try to lie to me.”

  “Four,” Gus rasped, not even attempting to equivocate while he rubbed at his neck. “Four men.”

  “Armed?” Del asked sharply.

  Gus gave a nod.

  “How many women and children?” Henry asked him.

  Gus turned, startled. He hadn’t realized Henry was there.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Gus said, glancing back and forth between the two men. “A dozen maybe. Four or five kids. Look, man, I’m just here to get a line on what they have planned for my niece. I’m not . . . It’s not what it looks like.”

  “Is that so?” Del asked. “That’s good, Gus. Because what it looks like is you’ve come running back to your employers. I’d hate to think that was the case. That would mean you’re going down with them.”

  “Hey, man, I don’t . . . I’ll do anything you want. Just say the word.”

  “Which one of you killed the old man, Gus? Was it you?” Del demanded.

  “Killed? I never killed nobody! I told you, I don’t know nothing ’bout nothing!”

  Del’s temper was stumbling down a slippery slope. He grabbed Gus by the shirtfront and pulled him up into his face.

  “You’re lying.”

  “I . . . I’m not, man. I swear, I don’t know anything!”

  Del stared into Gus’s eyes in the dark.

  “He’s telling the truth, Del,” Henry said, moving slowly toward the two of them. He had to tell him. He had to tell him now, before Del did something he couldn’t take back.

  “Yeah. Listen to what he’s saying, Del. I’m telling the truth! I got an alibi!”

  “And that,” Del said, with a shake, “is the only reason I’m gonna give you a chance right now, Gus. I’m gonna let you go, and you can walk out of here a free man. Don’t turn around, don’t look back. Walk away.”

  Gus went quiet and still, glancing between the two men. Del let go of him and stepped back. Henry breathed a sigh of relief.

  The three of them teetered on the edge of a blade while each stood motionless, waiting to see which side of the knife they were going to fall on.

  Then Gus ran. Henry realized with horror that he was running back toward the shack, tripping events into motion that Henry was much, much too late to stop.

  “Cops! The cops are here!” Gus was shouting, running for his life, literally.

  Henry took off running after him, hoping to knock him to the ground and shut him up before he could draw any more attention, but he pulled up short when a gunshot broke through the night.

  Gus fell.

  Henry turned back to his brother in shock.

  He hadn’t seen Del draw his weapon, and the words that were there on the tip of his tongue got tangled and lost. He didn’t do it, nothing to do with it. It was me, me and Eve.

  But it was too late. The gunshot rang through the woods like the starting bell at the dog races. Shouts came from the shack, and the sounds of people moving quickly.

  Henry ran to Gus, who was sprawled on the ground just yards ahead of him. He rolled him over, and blood gurgled from an exit wound in his chest.

  “Why didn’t you go, you idiot!” Henry shouted, putting pressure on the wound. “All you had to do was walk away. Damn it!”

  But there were no last words, only the spasms of a dying man, as his eyes rolled back in his head. More blood, so much blood. He coughed a red spray out of his mouth.

  Once again, Henry found himself with blood on his hands.

  But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Del grabbed him from behind, propelling him forward and below the floor of the shack that was raised up on piers.

  Henry could barely hear the shouting voices mixing with the screams of women from above them over the sound his blood was making in his veins.

  “Why, Del? You killed him! You fucking killed him!”

  “Shut up,” Del said in a harsh voice, his gun still in his hand. “He was lying, Henry. I gave him a chance. He should have taken it.”

  “He didn’t do it!” Henry yelled.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Del spit out, raising the gun and watching the steps that came down from the shack in front of them. “He had his chance.”

  There was more shuffling, screams, and footsteps from above, then the sounds of men shouting.

  “Stay here,” Del said. “Stay down.” He looked at Henry with a vague sense of disgust. “You shouldn’t have thrown the gun away, Henry,” he said. Then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the woods that enclosed them.

  “Del!” Henry called in a low whisper, but it was too late. No one was listening.

  Henry was alone, standing beneath the raised shack, leaning against one of the piers and trying to catch his breath. He could see nothing except the steps that led down to the ground from the porch above him, nothing except the trees through the gaps in the boards. But he knew he wasn’t alone. Not really.

  From above him there were the stifled sounds of fear. And around him, somewhere blended within the woods, Henry knew his brother waited and watched, feeding on his anger.

  A male voice called out from above.

  “I heard a rumor, compadre, that our police friend had changed his loyalties,” the voice said. “I thought to myself, no, not our friend. He’s been bought and paid for, good American currency. But I see I must have been mistaken.”

  Henry saw feet step down onto the top step above him. Bare feet, too small and skinny to belong to the voice.

  The feet of a child.

  “There seems to be some sort of miscommunication here. One I’m sure we could get straightened out, if you’d like to step out and talk this over, man to man. No need to get anyone else involved.”

  There was a whimper and the sound of crying coming from somewhere above the too-small feet.

  It was a little girl. They’d sent out a little girl. As a shield?

  “I’ve got a few friends here with me, compadre. But you know, friends are a funny thing. There are always more where they came from. I don’t mind losing a few.”

  The muffled crying increased, along with a muted feminine scream.

  “What about you?”

  Henry held his breath, but Del didn’t step out of the woods. Didn’t make a sound.

  “I’m done playing around,” the voice came again, harder and louder this time. “Come out now, and we’ll talk this over like men. Don’t come out, and the girl dies.”

  Henry didn’t hesitate.

  “Wait!” he shouted, moving out from the shelter beneath the shack with his hands up. “I’m coming out. Don’t hurt her.”

  He glanced up into the glare of several flashlights pointing in his direction, held by men with guns spread out across the porch. He could see three of them and assumed there was at least one more inside.

  The girl was standing front and center, visibly trembling.

  There was a man standing behind her, one hand placed upon her shoulder, almost gently. His face was young, fresher than Henry had expected, if he’d thought to expect anything at all. The man had a slight smile upon his face.

  “And who are you, may I ask?” he asked in a surprisingly congenial way.

  “Nobody,” Henry said. “Nobody who matters. A neighbor.”

  “Ah.” The man nodded in recognition. “The neighbor who’s taken in one of our girls. That neighbor?”

  Henry nodded, looking into the face of the terrified child.

  “Well, that is interesting. And what brings you here, neighbor? Looking for another girl to take home? Because that’d cost you this time. The last one was free. Damaged goods, you might say. But I’m not in the habit of giving away the merchandise.”

  Henry’s stomach turned. “Let her go. Let them all go.”

  The man looked at Henry in surprise and let out
a laugh. His face didn’t look so fresh anymore.

  “Let her go, he says,” the man mocked. “What do you think of that, Marcus?” He glanced back at the porch toward one of the men with a gun.

  Marcus said nothing, but his gun remained pointed straight at Henry.

  Fresh Face looked back at Henry, an amused smile playing across his lips. “See, neighbor, unless you’re a leprechaun with a pot of gold hidden behind you, I don’t think that’s going to happen. And you don’t look like a leprechaun to me.”

  The other man tilted his head and studied Henry. “Why’d you come here? I’m guessing that gunshot was for Gus, since he hasn’t shown his stupid face. Is he dead?” he asked curiously.

  Henry nodded. There were a few grumbles from the men on the porch, and they shifted their feet, glancing toward one another, but they were clearly taking their cues from the man standing behind the little girl.

  “That’s too bad, neighbor,” the man said, shaking his head, although he didn’t sound like he really gave a damn either way.

  “Gus was worthless. Worse than that, he was reckless. I took his fingers in payment for the damage his girl did to Marcus’s face, because she was his. But that should have been the end of it. The girl wasn’t going to talk. Not after I sent her my little care package.”

  “That was you?” Henry asked, stalling for time. Where the hell was Del?

  The man grinned. “You liked that? Eloquent, I thought. And effective. But that idiot Gus wouldn’t let it go. Wanted payback. Now his recklessness has brought you to my door, and I’m stuck in a position I don’t really like to be in.”

  The man shifted from one foot to the other, and although Henry got the impression that he enjoyed hearing himself speak, he knew he was running out of time.

  “I suppose you did me a favor, taking a liability off my hands. Still, I’m left in a quandary. See, somebody made a mess in my little vacation cabin here,” he said, waving his gun in the direction of the shack behind him. “And I don’t like messes. Gus swore up and down it wasn’t him, and he knows better than to lie to me. I’d take more than his fingers for lying to me.”

  The man tightened his hold on the little girl’s shoulder and pushed her forward a bit. She stumbled down the remaining steps, and the man followed, keeping her centered in front of him. They approached Henry together, until they stood in front of him on the ground, just beyond his reach.

  Close enough that he saw the way the girl shuddered in fear. Close enough that he saw the cold calculation in the man’s eyes.

  “But then, I’ve heard some strange rumors floating around. Something about a local going missing. That Gus got questioned about it. That he rolled over on me, to save his own skin.”

  The man’s voice was distracted, and Henry watched him peer into the trees behind where he was standing, checking, he was sure, to see if Henry was really alone.

  And Henry had never felt more alone in his life.

  “That’s not the case, though. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and Gus didn’t have any. He came running back to me straightaway, because he was more scared of me than them.”

  The man grinned at Henry and ran a hand softly down the girl’s arm. “With good reason.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw something moving within the bank of trees, to the left of the shack and toward the marsh. He tried to keep his face passive, but the man must have heard movement or seen a flicker in his eyes. He turned his head.

  Henry felt a sense of déjà vu overtake him, layering his childhood nightmares over the current one he was living. Coming toward them was the swamp witch that had been lying dormant in the shallow, muddy grave where Henry had banished it when he was six years old.

  And the witch had his brother’s eyes, burning with hatred and pain.

  Covered in mud and muck that blurred the edges of the wooded darkness around him with his own, Del didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t say anything at all. He slowly raised his hand and fired the gun.

  The fresh-faced man fell slowly, the wound to his head jerking him backward.

  The little girl screamed.

  Henry watched it all in stunned disbelief.

  There was shouting and the running feet of the men above them on the porch. There were screams of terrified women and children from inside the shack.

  Del never hurried his pace, or so it seemed to Henry, who stood immobile with shock.

  His brother walked slowly up the steps of the shack. Henry wasn’t sure what kept those men from firing their weapons. Maybe it was the strange and unexpected sight of what appeared to be a monster. But in his heart, Henry thought they were more spooked by the slow, steady cadence of Del’s feet coming toward them. He didn’t hurry. Not in the way a man would—the way a man should—when he was walking toward the black barrels pointing in his direction. He walked like a thing that couldn’t be killed, like an avenging ghost who had no fear of the death that bullets could deliver.

  Then Del raised his arm and shot again. Once, then twice. The man on the right fell, never firing his weapon. His flashlight, his body, and his gun rattled against the weathered boards of the porch.

  The last man standing, the one on the left, backed away when Del turned toward him. Henry didn’t know exactly what thoughts must have been going through the fugitive’s head, but he had a good idea when the man dropped his gun and ran to the railing of the porch, raising his leg to leap over the side.

  Henry flinched when Del’s gun went off again, shooting the man in the back.

  With a start, Henry realized that the little girl standing just feet away from him, the little girl who’d just watched three men murdered before her eyes, the blood of one of them marring her face and arms, was screaming, running toward the shack.

  “Mama! Mama!” she shrieked.

  The little girl didn’t plan to become the epicenter of what would happen next, as she barreled through the empty space separating her from the only person who mattered in her small world. She sought nothing more and nothing less than the safety of her mother’s arms.

  Henry sprinted after her as she threw herself up the steps. Del also turned in her direction, the vengeful anger still on his face. At the same moment that the child reached the top of the steps, the door of the shack flew back on its rusty hinges, and another man emerged from the darkened doorway.

  Without any of the purpose that Del had possessed when firing his gun, the man in the doorway was driven only by fear. Fear for his freedom. Fear for his life.

  The only certainty that Henry had upon seeing the fear in the man’s eyes, and the large black gun in his hands, was that none of them were safe.

  Del, seeing what Henry was seeing, came to that realization in the same moment that the man raised his weapon to pull the trigger, no thought or care about who was on the receiving end.

  With a horrified expression as he saw the little girl, Del turned and dove toward the man just as Henry overtook the child, catching her at the waist and swinging her around behind him.

  “Mama! Mama!” she continued to shriek. She fought against Henry’s hold with everything she had, but he held fast, crouching down and covering as much of her body as he could with his own.

  Henry squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of gunfire shattering the night yet again. He could hear shouting, more screams, and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor, all within a matter of seconds.

  Henry didn’t want to look behind him. Didn’t know if he had the strength. Each misstep that had brought him to this place replayed in his mind in an unending loop.

  Please, God, he’s my brother, and I’m the one to blame. Not him. It was me, Henry thought, as he turned to see what fate had in store.

  The man with the gun was sprawled in the doorway of the shack, his gun flung to the side of him.

  And there was Del, sliding in a muck-covered heap down the edge of the wall. For a moment, Henry thought he was catching his breath, overcome by the carnage o
f the last few minutes. He desperately wanted that to be the case.

  Distracted, he loosened his hold on the little girl just enough that she slipped from his grasp. Still on his knees, Henry reached out for her, not knowing if it was safe, but she was gone, running back to her mother, while he was left with less than nothing in his hands.

  He climbed up from his prone position and ran toward his brother.

  A momentary glance inside the shack showed him a dozen cowering, terrified women huddled together in a back corner, several with children in their arms, most covering their faces. Each one looked up at him, met his eyes, and he tasted their fear. Was he their savior or another monster, come to take them to a fresh kind of hell?

  He couldn’t answer the questions in their eyes, and he didn’t have time to try. Once he’d seen that there were no more men hiding in the shack, with guns or without, he turned his attention to Del.

  Kneeling by Del’s side, he looked his brother in the eyes. There was a film of pain there that told Henry it wasn’t shock or exhaustion that had brought him down.

  Del was gripping his stomach with both hands. There was blood seeping between his fingers.

  “Show me,” Henry said harshly, but Del ignored him.

  “The girl?” Del asked.

  “She’s fine,” Henry replied. “Scared, but she’s fine.”

  Del nodded. “Tell Alice—” His face twisted in pain, and he took in a sharp breath. “Tell her—”

  “Tell her yourself,” Henry said, pulling Del’s arm away from his middle and wrapping it around his neck. With a heave, he stood. Del was a bigger man than he was, always had been, but Henry didn’t stumble.

  “I can’t, Henry,” Del said with a gasp, still holding his free hand to his stomach.

  “You can,” Henry said angrily. “You will.”

  He half walked, half dragged his brother to the edge of the porch. The steps splayed out in front of them, laughing at Henry’s attempt to move a man who outweighed him by fifty pounds and was practically dead weight.

  Tightening his grip on his brother, Henry made it down the first step, then the second, before Del’s feet gave way beneath him. For a moment, Henry believed they were both going to tumble down the steps under his weight, then, without warning, the load was lightened.