by Pike, JJ
Jim nodded. “Got my map in my pocket.”
“Slow and steady wins the race,” said Betsy. She was beside Jim, checking Margaret’s vitals, making sure her patient was ready for transport.
The mines were miles away. Could they honestly carry Midge all that way? What other choice did they have? She had a brain injury. She couldn’t be asked to walk.
Sean kissed Petra. Jim kissed Betsy. And with that his youngest daughter left the house and began the journey to the salt mines.
“You’re a lucky man,” said Fran.
He was. He might have lost a limb, but he had what counted: his family.
“Did you tell Alice what I said?”
“Of course.”
“And what was her reply?”
Bill frowned. What a weird person Fran was; he’d never quite understood her willingness to be second fiddle to everyone around her. It was as if she was damaged in a way that made her want to please people all the time. Then again, he knew enough about damaged people to fill an entire library. Why should she be any different? At least her pathology made her look for ways to be helpful. He understood that, more than ever. To be helpful to your fellow man was the highest calling.
Fran laughed, though it was a joyless sound. He’d left her hanging while he thought about how strange she was. It was partly the drugs, but mostly exhaustion. When they got to the mines they were all going to need to sleep for a 100 years.
“She said you were a good, kind friend and she was lucky to have met you.”
That wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough.
Fran popped another pill. Maybe they weren’t for her headache after all. He’d taken Adderall, propofol, tramadol, some sedative Alice had injected him with that he’d never bothered to ask the name of, all in the last 24 hours. He had no clue what Fran’s story was. She could be hiding wounds under those clothes, not wanting anyone to know how much she was hurting.
Gradually, the house emptied out. Bill ambled to the front door to get a better look at what was going on.
Aggie was busy securing Paul’s sled—she wasn’t kidding, she really was going to do it—to the back of her mare. That was a gamble. Had they done any practice runs? Horses were like people: they needed to bulk up and train before they took on heavy loads. They were going to need to stop often and make sure she was properly watered.
“Where’s Pippy?” Bill couldn’t imagine they’d leave without her.
Aggie smiled. “She’s throwing a goat-shaped fit because I put a small saddlebag on her back.”
“Perhaps she just gets to follow along?” he said.
“No freeloaders,” said Aggie. “You either do your job or we have to say adios.”
“Mid…Margaret loves her. She’ll want to read Pippy a bedtime story just as soon as she can.”
Aggie looked back at her father with kind eyes. She knew he was talking about himself as he tried to find his new place in this new family order.
“She’s back!” Mimi pointed down the driveway. “Alice is back.”
Bill hadn’t had time to say hello to his mother. She looked drawn around the edges, but she was here, safe, with them. They’d talk later. He put his arm around her as they waited on Alice. “Good to see you, Mom.”
“Good to see you, too,” she said. “You had me worried there for a moment.”
“You don’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Looks like someone tried. Are they on the installment plan?” That was so like her: talk about something painful by joking about it. “Here’s hoping they don’t ask for a leg next.”
Bill laughed.
There were two vans in the driveway. Alice, Maggie-loo, and Mouse got out of the first one.
Hedwig stayed in the driver’s seat of the other. She leaned her head out of the window. “I’m guarding this. Let me know when I can move it.”
Aggie went to her and the two young women talked for several minutes. When they were done, Hedwig backed up and plowed through the trees.
“She’s going across country,” said Aggie. “We’ll meet her there. Right.” She clapped her hands. “We want these bags in the van Mom brought if there’s room.” She and Mimi set to work loading the van.
“Fran!” Alice embraced her assistant who’d hung back out of respect but was now in the driveway with the rest of the family. “I’m so glad you made it.”
Fran popped another pill. Was she sick? Had she caught the disease? Or was she like him, popping uppers to keep her eyes open? He needed to mention that to Alice as soon as he could.
“Can we talk?” said Fran.
“I’m staying with my family and that’s final,” said Alice. “I’ll come and talk to Christine if you think that will help, but we’re headed out of here soon.”
Bill didn’t want to let Alice out of his sight. They were so close, he couldn’t let her fall at the last hurdle. Her loyalties were going to be stretched in every direction. One strong word from Christine Baxter and she might tell him to go on his way and she’d “catch up later” which meant “never.”
“Mind if I tag along?” he said.
“Are you sure you can manage it, my love?” Alice had turned back into his Alice again. Whoever he thought he’d seen in the car was a mirage, his brain playing tricks on him.
“I’m sure.” Bill snuck an Adderall and a tramadol. Not that he had anything to hide, but he didn’t want to talk about it much either. He needed to be alert and available to Alice.
“I’d love it if you came with us, Bill. Let’s walk together.” Fran popped another pill, too.
They were like the popping twins. In a bad way.
“Steady there,” he said. She wasn’t keeping track. Even if she was only popping acetaminophen like Tic Tacs, she was going at it too fast.
“Have you talked to Jo recently?” said Fran.
“Not for a while.” Alice threaded her arm through Fran’s. It was an easy gesture, filled with friendship.
Bill was pleased his neighbor was home safe. Pleased, too, that his wife felt like the woman he loved and not that weird, icy strategist he’d imagined in the car.
“How about Michael?” Fran asked. “Have you talked to him?”
“I had that one conversation with him when you guys were on your way here. He told me he was CIA and that the Chinese had been working on MELT. I didn’t have time for much more than that. What do you make of it?”
“He and I were lovers, you know.”
Alice stopped. “I didn’t know.”
“Not for long.” Fran stumbled.
Alice caught her. “Watch out. There are tree roots galore around here. You have to watch the ground all the time.”
“Got it,” said Fran. “Your place was more manicured than this, wasn’t it?”
Alice nodded. “But we’re younger. And we have the kids. Jim and Betsy have to prioritize. I’m not sure they have the energy to landscape this far from the house.” Alice took a deep breath. “So, you were lovers with Michael Rayton? That’s not what I expected to hear.”
“Like I said, not for that long. Just since he started snooping around.”
Alice laughed. “Snooping’s his job, isn’t it? As it turns out. I mean, I can’t tell you I wasn’t shocked, but looking back it all fits.”
“It took so long.” Fran stumbled again, this time harder.
Alice caught her arm, but Fran fell forward into her arms.
“Putting this all in motion.” Fran sank to her knees. “It all took so, so long.”
“Fran? You’re sick.” Alice had her hand to Fran’s forehead, checking her temperature like she was one of her own kids. She propped her up against the closest tree.
Bill leaned against the same tree, his bad arm throbbing and stinging and begging for more drugs. He couldn’t crouch down and he couldn’t take more pills. He was too worried he wouldn’t be able to stand up again.
“You’re going to hear a lot about me.” Fran was blinking slower and slow
er. “But I want you to hear it from me.”
Alice and Bill waited.
Fran fumbled in her pocket. Her fingers weren’t working properly. She couldn’t get to whatever it was she was grasping at. Good thing too. She didn’t need any more drugs.
Alice reached into Fran’s pocket and pulled out a figure no bigger than her palm.
Bill was shot through with adrenalin.
“It’s a worry doll,” said Alice. “I haven’t seen one of these for years.” The doll’s dress was made of a traditional aguayo cloth: primary colors in bold stripes.
Bill stood up straight. “That’s mine.”
“I didn’t know you had one of these,” said Alice. She was smiling.
It was a terrible moment. He’d gotten that when he was in Guatemala. He’d never shown it to Alice. He couldn’t. It was wrapped up in what he’d done. The decision not to tell her had been grounded in good, common sense, but now that she was holding the doll he was imagining how he could explain how he’d come by it. He swallowed hard. “It was in my safe.”
Alice frowned.
“I took it out,” said Fran. “It was mine before it was yours.”
Bill couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Yours?”
Fran nodded. She was smiling a terrible, crooked smile as she slid further down the tree.
“I think she’s overdosed,” said Bill. “We should make her throw up.”
“What does she mean, Bill?”
“Make her throw up.”
Alice wasn’t moving. He was going to have to do it himself. He bent down, crushing his bloated stump against the sagging woman; ignored the stabbing pains that coursed up and down his arms; pulling Fran close; and thrusting his fingers down her throat.
She gagged but didn’t evacuate her stomach.
“Help me,” he said.
Alice sprang into action. It took three rounds, but eventually Fran vomited into the dirt. Alice laid her on the ground. She was alive, but they didn’t know what she’d taken, in what quantities, or for how long. She needed to be checked out, immediately. Was there such a thing as a manual stomach pump? Did they even own charcoal? What did they do next? How did you save a dying girl when the world had already collapsed?
“Run and get Betsy.” He was sweating. His stump was bleeding through his bandage.
Alice didn’t ask any more questions. She ran back towards the house shouting for Betsy to come quickly.
“Do you understand?” said Fran. She was whispering, but he heard every word.
“No.”
“The doll was mine.”
“It can’t be. That doll was given to me by a little Guatemalan girl.”
“Me. The little Guatemalan girl was me.”
What in the name of all that made the world go round was she talking about? A tiny little scrap of a girl had given him that doll when he went to find Mateo Hernandez. He’d visited Alice’s village. The kid had followed him to his car. He’d taken the worry doll as a symbol of their kindness and friendship. He’d kept it all these years as a reminder that he’d rid the world of an evil man and they were all better off because of it.
“My name is Frances Delia Loomaye. Tell them.”
“Tell who?”
“Michael and Jo.” She laughed. “The FBI and the CIA have been running in circles trying to work out who Eloise Farmanday was. They didn’t figure in a missing middle name. I took out ‘Cloe’ just to make it interesting for those knuckleheads. I have to tell you…” She retched and coughed. “It was a lot of fun seeing them get it so wrong.”
“I’m not following.”
“You will,” said Fran. She fumbled with her other pocket.
How many worry dolls did she have? What other monstrous surprises were up her sleeve?
“You destroyed my life.”
She was delirious. He’d never spoiled anyone’s life, not least a child’s.
“My father was Mateo Hernandez.”
Bill’s mouth hung open. She couldn’t mean it. That wasn’t possible.
“He was a big man. An important man. We had a good life. You destroyed that. I did this because of you, William Everlee. You took my life, so I took yours.”
He didn’t see the gun until it was too late.
Fran—Frances, Eloise, Mateo’s daughter, whoever she was—shot herself through the head, her brains splattering down his front.
Bill Everlee had brought about the end of the world by defending his wife’s honor. How would he ever tell her now?
MELT – Book 8
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Special Thanks
Many thanks to my awesome Beta Team, without whom none of my books would be possible. -Mike
Though writing is usually a solitary act, we're lucky enough to have two brains to bash together to keep us on story-telling track. Beyond the names on the cover, there's a team of professionals behind the paper curtain who make us look like we know what we're doing. I'd like to thank my editor, Erin McCabe, who's wit, wisdom, and brilliance keeps me from sailing into obscurity; the talented Christian Bentulan for his beautiful covers; and our dedicated team of Beta-readers, who give their time, talent, and opinions freely. Any errors that have slipped through the net are mine and mine alone. – JJ Pike
