“Good.” She finally said. “I’d expect that kind of thing from your no-good brother, but not from you, young man. You’ve always been such a good boy.”
The rage that had gripped her dissipated as quickly as it had descended. She stroked Earl’s hair gently now and he leaned into it like a cat which hoped a scratch behind the ears was soon to follow.
“Always such a loving son . . . .”
Placing the palm of her hand against his cheek, Mary spoke softly and slowly as her fingertips smeared fresh blood across his upper lip.
“You make your Mama proud, you hear? You take that little whelp and you hide that car where ain’t nobody never gonna find it.. Then you high tail it back here.”
She turned her head and studied Matt and Mona for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of their chests while their arms hung by their sides like strands of overcooked spaghetti.
“Then once the two of you are back all safe and sound, we’ll all show our new guests a little hospitality.”
Even Daryl couldn’t suppress the grin that the words coaxed from his pale face.
“If’n you do a good enough job, I might even let ya have a go at the woman before she’s all cut up and bleedin’ like a stuck pig. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, boy? All fresh and new and tidy?”
Earl remained silent, but the gleam in his eyes was answer enough. Before the night was over, fresh blood would be spilled in a house that had come to crave it and screams for mercy would fall flat on a dark and uncaring forest. There would be pain and suffering and it would be sipped like water from a cup.
SCENE SIX
Mona drifted as if she were nothing more than a piece of wood in a sea of darkness. She floated on the black waters and bobbed on the crests of undulating waves while empty space yawned above her. There were no pinprick holes of light in the dome of the sky, no wisps of gray cloud, or even the hint of a rising moon brightening the distant horizon. Above, below, surrounding her on all sides: nothing but a darkness so complete that the heavens and sea were indistinguishable from one another. Up was down, left was right, and she spiraled in eddies that threatened to suck her into the undertow before spitting her back to the surface again.
The lightless ocean also made a sound that somehow reminded Mona of the flub and swish of an ultrasound. She could almost feel the cold jelly smeared onto her stomach, the slight pressure of the paddles as they slid across her skin. In the distance, something soft and warm began to flicker in the darkness; it pulsed in time with the rhythm of the noises around her, its aura growing stronger with each muffled sluice of unseen fluid. Something that looked like a blurry cashew began to form in the center of the light and as Mona watched she saw bluish veins spread like stain across a translucent onionskin. Two perfectly round and perfectly dark eyes formed on either side of what was now obviously a head as paddle like hands waved as slowly as seaweed on the ocean floor. The fetus seemed to absorb the light it had formed from so that the radiance came from somewhere within: the luminance acted almost like an x-ray, silhouetting the tiny heart and network of arteries against the honey-colored glow.
The fetus swiveled its head like an owl and, even from such a great distance, Mona could clearly see her own reflection in the black mirrors of its eyes. Her heartbeat and breathing seemed to synchronize with the pulse of the creature’s effulgence and she wanted to pull this delicate thing somewhere inside her, to keep it safe and warm and hidden far from those who’d do it harm. She’d be able to push away the anger that would gnaw at the back of her mind whenever she’d look at the familiar features that would form on its face; shame and guilt would be swallowed and left to simmer in the furthest recesses of her psyche: she could love this small life if she simply tried hard enough. She was sure of that.
Mona tried to stretch her arms so that they’d reach this ethereal baby . . . but something changed. The warm, golden glow diminished like an ember burning out and the creature’s skin morphed into something that was as brown and wrinkled as a dried leaf. Cracks spread across the dark eyes and seemed to pull their luster into the advancing fissures, leaving them as dull and lifeless as two dusty marbles. At the same time, Mona heard the whoosh and whine of air: it was a sound almost like a vacuum cleaner sucking liquid from the bottom of a pool, so loud that she could feel the pull of its force in her gut. In response, chunks of the fetus separated from the body, though they did not go without a fight: they struggled to maintain solidarity with the whole, hanging on with thin strands of tissue that stretched and ripped like rubber bands pulled their breaking point. In the end, however, the power exerted upon them was just too great; these jagged pieces of flesh were wrenched free and drifted into the darkness until there was nothing left but that hollow, empty void.
A voice slurred through the emptiness left behind, echoing like the words of a drunken god. Each syllable thudded in her chest and made her knees tremble at the judgment being passed.
“You little fucking whore . . . .”
Tears stung Mona’s eyes as a cocktail of emotion was shaken within her: anger surged with the quickness of a knife, only to be washed away with a nauseous blend of fear and misplaced guilt. But then hatred flared like the tip of a match, igniting the entire concoction in a mushroom cloud of flame before sputtering out within the winds of panic.
“Lying, worthless tramp!”
Someone walked across the expanse of darkness toward Mona, their steps as light and calculated as a boy tiptoeing carefully across a bedroom floor. The moving shadow seemed to quiver with nervous excitement, glancing over its shoulder every few steps as if to ensure that some larger shadow wasn’t creeping up behind it.
A different voice in the darkness now. A voice that cracked and broke beneath the strain of raging hormones.
“Drink this . . . it’s good. Drink it all, okay?”
The shadow advanced in a series of abrupt jerks, almost as if it were passing through a strobe light as dark as the surroundings. One second it was ten feet away . . . the next, six. Then three. Two. One . . . .
A pockmarked face that looked like a masculine version of her own floated so close that Mona could feel the sharp gasps of air warm her cheek. Then sensations burst through like rapid fire gunshots in the night: the smell of sweat and garlic, hands fumbling and touching, pain exploding somewhere between her legs before the numbing cloud washed over her again, pulling her into a darkness much like the one she floated in now.
“He’s a fucking gridiron hero, for Christ’s sake! He could bang any cheerleader he wants? And you really expect me to believe that a dirty piece of trash like your . . . .”
Mona felt as if she were collapsing into herself, as if all of her molecules were being compressed into a little ball of ice so dense that a black hole formed within her soul. She kept expecting the sting from the back of his hand and the black olive taste of blood trickling from her split and throbbing lip. Coat hangers straightened into slender rods, the studded belt wrapped snugly around a beefy fist, bottles of Mad Dog that shattered like a cheap tiara, leaving her wondering how much of the sticky liquid drenching her hair was blood and how much was wine: these were expected, these were the norm, and no one gave a damn about this quiet little girl who flinched at every loud noise or sudden movement.
Her father staggered in front of the creeping shadow like a washed up actor who’d somehow stumbled into the glare of a spotlight. His bloodshot eyes blazed over top a bulbous nose webbed with thin, blue veins and his jowls flapped like a rabid bulldog as the torrent of abuse flew like froth from his mouth.
“She’s just jealous, Dad. She’s makin’ shit up to try and get me in trouble. Why the hell would I drug my own dawn sister? Who does that?”
Mona wanted to scream at the top of her lungs: I never said I was drugged! How did you know I was drugged, Timmy? If you’re so fucking innocent, how the hell did you know I was drugged? But all that came from her throat was a whimper so soft that it may have come from a puppy wavering betw
een life and death.
“None of the boys will touch her ‘cause she smells like pee. Fifteen years old and still wetting the bed like a little fucking baby. She wakes up early to do the laundry so you won’t know, Dad. I’ve seen her do it.”
A chorus of voices swirled in the darkness around her, each one jabbing with the cruelty only adolescence can foster.
“Outta my way, Urinal Cake!”
“Oh hell . . . here comes Pissin’ Mona . . . .”
‘S’up, Outhouse?”
A school desk flashed into existence like a brief crack of lightning, leaving the image of a plastic bag of diapers perched atop her textbooks seared onto her retinas as dozens of voices thundered with laughter.
“You lying sack of shit . . . is that it? You trying to get your brother in trouble? Trying to make sure he doesn’t get that scholarship because you’re so damn retarded. Well, missy, maybe you need to be shown what it really feels like.”
A pressure had built up somewhere within Mona’s abdomen. It was almost as if her bladder were expanding like a balloon; she could feel it swelling with warm liquid, the walls stretching thin as it continued to grow. Only not quite. Something was different this time. Almost as if the scream that had been trapped inside her for so many years was submerged somewhere down there: it burned like an ingot, the fierce heat boiling the liquid and causing pressure to further billow into the nooks and crannies of her body. The pressure surged into her chest and lungs, made her throat feel as if layers of flesh had been burned away, and then spewed from a mouth that could no longer contain the force that had simply simmered for so long.
Instead of a scream, a stream of fire shot past her lips. It crackled and hissed through the air like a serpent of flame before coiling around her dad and brother. Red and orange tongues hungrily licked away flesh and muscle, rendered fat into bubbling puddles of steam, and eventually turned on themselves until nothing was left but skeletons and ash. The bones held together for a moment, frozen in their final poses; it was almost as if they hadn’t realized yet that even cartilage had been consumed in the blaze. But then they dissolved into a fine dust that scattered on the wind and silence returned to Mona’s dark void.
Only it wasn’t silent. Not really. There was a lull coming from somewhere, almost like a distant buzzing in her ears that grew louder the more she tried to identify its source. Close by, she spotted what appeared to be veils of gossamer fabric. Each fiber was illuminated from within; it was as if soft, pastel light had somehow been woven into the strands and they rippled and shifted like well-dressed spirits dancing in the breeze.
The buzzing merged into a hum and the colors formed patchwork blocks, the tint bleeding seamlessly as they formed a blurry mosaic. The sound filled her entire head now and Mona realized that words were interspersed within the rise and fall of the drone; as more and more words asserted themselves, texture and depth emerged as hue melted into detail.
“Wake up, girlie. Wake up, for Mary . . . wake up, now.”
Wrinkled fingers snapped in front of Mona’s face and the sound seemed to be the final peg needed to hold her hazy picture of reality together. Though her head felt like wet cement had been funneled in through her ears, she could hear Matt’s voice somewhere close by. It was nothing more than a moan . . . the same one, in fact, that she’d heard countless times following an all-night drinking binge. She looked toward the sound and the movement made her skull feel as if her brain had just slammed into her forehead. She could feel it thudding there, just behind the ridge of her brow, and the dull ache coaxed a queasy gurgle from her stomach.
Matt was sitting in what looked to be an old dining room chair. His ankles were bound to the wooden legs so tightly that it almost seemed as if the rope were burrowing into his jeans and his hands had been pulled behind the slatted back, presumably tied as well. His head hung forward so that his bangs were in his eyes and his chin practically rested on his chest, but she could see and hear him smacking his lips as if his mouth were filled with the same thick saliva that flooded hers.
“That’s a good girl. Wakey, wakey . . . .”
Mona snapped her head back and glared at the old woman, despite the needles of pain that jabbed into her temples as she squinted her eyes. She opened her mouth, intent on spitting out a slew of curses, but the anger somehow got mired in the thick slush clogging her synapses, and all that came out was a dry croak.
Mary smiled and smoothed her yellow dress as her eyes scanned the smooth skin of Mona’s arms, lingering on them the way a construction worker might ogle the curves of her ass. Behind her round spectacles, something flared within her eyes and she ran the tip of her tongue across her lips.
“The boys have done gone for your car. But don’t fret over that. They’ll make sure ain’t nobody never gonna find it, girlie.”
Mona’s muscles tensed and she tried to lunge forward; but coarse ropes bit into the soft flesh of her wrists and the legs of the chair she was tied to didn’t so much as scrape against the floorboards. The sudden movement, however, caused bile to shoot up into the back of her throat as the world swam in and out of focus.
“Ain’t you just the cutest thing? They all fight, at first. Like a coupla cats in a sack. But after a spell, ‘ole Mary has a way of takin’ that fight plum out of ‘em. You’ll see.”
She reached forward with an open hand and tried to push a lock of dark hair away from Mona’s face, but the younger woman snapped her teeth like a viscous dog on the end of a leash. Mary snatched her hand away and frowned as she shook her head.
“Well, I declare . . . . Just like a scared, little animal caught in the hunter’s big, bad trap. I reckon you’ll need housebreakin’, Mary will hafta show you your place, girlie.”
“Old woman . . . .”
Though it was as thick and mumbled as someone in the throes of sleep, the voice that had spoken was unmistakably Matt’s.
“ . . . you let us go now and maybe we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”
Mary cackled and strolled over to where he was tied. She squatted down on the balls of her feet so she could look him directly in the eyes and pursed her lips for a moment.
“Boy,” she finally said, “I don’t reckon you rightly understand the situation.”
Her hand slipped into the pocket of her dress and reemerged with a silver handled knife. She turned it slowly, allowing the light to glint on the short blade.
“But you will . . . soon enough.”
The fog that clouded Mona’s vision seemed to be lifting somewhat and she could now make out details of the room they were in. Pushed against one wall was a simple sleigh bed whose sagging mattress was draped with a comforter decorated with pink roses. Various, mismatched pillows were propped at the head of the bed and a glass of water sat on a night stand off to the side. The walls were lined with faded photographs and, on the opposite side of the room, was a closed door. Beside the door was a scarred and beaten desk that had scrapbooking supplies piled onto its surface and she suspected at least one of their chairs had been taken from this work area. Across from the desk was a window covered with what looked like yellowed cheese-cloth; the fabric was so thin that Mona could see pine trees outside and a hint of sky that was just beginning to lighten with the coming of dawn. Which meant that they’d been knocked out for quite some time.
Swiveling her head in the other direction, Mona saw an open door leading into a dimly lit hallway. She could just make out the top of the stairs and a glass case that stood against the wall. Inside the case hung a compound bow wrapped in camouflage tape and the razor-like tips of arrows gleamed like the smiles of demons.
Mona’s heart forgot to beat for a moment as she stared into the hallway. If there were only some way to get those feathered rods of death in her tingling hands . . . .
“Tell you what, sonny . . . you can watch as I take some of the fight outta your little hussy over there.”
Mary jabbed the knife in Mona’s direction, but her cold eyes never st
rayed from Matt’s face.
“Such pretty, delicate skin . . . she’ll open up just like a ripe slicin’ tomato, I bet. And she’ll bleed for ‘ole Mary. Oh yes, you can take that to the bank, boy. And after you’ve had your fill of her screamin’ and cryin’ and beggin’ for me to stop . . . after she looks like she’s done run plum through a barb wire fence . . . then you talk to me about lettin’ the two of ya go.”
“I swear to God, if you fuckin’ lay a finger on her . . . .”
Mary laughed again, her voice drowning out the rest of Matt’s threat.
“I ain’t feared of you, boy. Only reason I haven’t done it already is I promised Earl Ray he could lay with this little whore before she’s been all cut up and bruised. He’s such a good boy. Unlike that half wit brother of his. But maybe Daryl will have a go at her, too. If’n he spends ten minutes in a dark closet first.”
Mary slapped her leg and chuckled as if some sort of joke had been made; but Matt’s face was as hard and immovable as if it had been cut from stone. He stared straight ahead silently while taking slow breaths through his nose. His jaw was clenched so tightly that Mona could almost hear his teeth grinding against one another and his pupils had shrank to mere pinpoints. In all respects, he looked like a totally different man now; gone was the young newly wed who was as quick with a smile as he was a joke. In his place, sat some hulking creature whose girth seemed to grow with each slow, measure breath.
Mary wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, but the grin that had been plastered across her face faded as she noticed this new countenance. Blinking several times, she chewed on the inside of her cheek as she stood back up.
Shut The Fuck Up And Die! Page 6
