Pray for the Girl

by Joseph Souza

  Then again, it’s not too hard to do, considering all that happened last night. Dalton got so drunk that he never made it in this morning. He must have been too hungover or embarrassed to show his face in here. I keep peeking into the dining room, hoping he’ll be sitting at the counter, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Will he act like nothing happened the next time I see him? Does he not realize what he said to me about these murders? Or that he confessed his love for Lucy Abbott? Me!

  My heart beats faster thinking about him, and that kiss, and part of me hopes he’ll make an appearance this morning. Have I forgiven him for his youthful indiscretions? Has the bully come full circle? No, because I know that he occasionally spouts off about these immigrants and displays bigoted tendencies. So why can’t I understand my own thoughts? And why am I still attracted to him, knowing all I do about him?

  Nadia comes back with another half-eaten omelette. It’s runny and cooked only partway through. It’s odd the way she treats me; it’s as if I don’t exist. I suppose I’m one in a long line of losers whom her father has hired throughout the years and will soon be fired. So why try to develop a friendship? I chalk it up to the ingenuity of my disguise and the low growl of my voice. I’ve turned myself into persona non grata in this diner. Those missing three inches seem to have done the trick.

  “Jesus! Will you cook it right this time?” she snaps, dumping the omelette in the trash.

  “Sorry,” I say, watching as she scrapes the plate clean. “Where’s Detective Dalton this morning?”

  “How do I know?”

  “He’s usually the first one through the door.”

  “Dalton’s a jerk, so forget about him and focus on your job.”

  “I don’t know, he strikes me as a decent guy.”

  She tosses the soiled dish into a plastic tub and turns angrily to me. “How would you know about him? You didn’t grow up with that asshole like I did. You have no idea what he’s really like.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right. He’s been a bully his whole life, and he hasn’t changed a bit. Even his own daughter can’t stand him.”

  I pour liquid eggs on the flattop and watch as it bubbles up into an orange, plasticky flubber.

  “Look, Iggy, you seem like a nice guy, but maybe you should just concentrate on your cooking instead of judging others.”

  “He told me he’s a changed man and is sorry for what he’s done in the past.”

  “Is that so?” She laughs bitterly. “If Dalton had his way, he’d kick all of these poor immigrants out of town. Does that sound like someone who’s changed for the better?”

  “But he’s a good cop, right? He’s trying to catch the killer of these two kids.”

  “Have you looked into his job performance? He’s had more complaints than any other officer on the force and has been suspended twice.”

  “For what?”

  “Excessive force. It’s all on the public record.”

  I add shredded cheese, ham, and shallots. “I heard he was in love with the cook before me.” I fold the omelette over, plate it, and then hand it to her.

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “He pretty much told me so himself.”

  “He said that?”

  “We had a few beers last night. Said he really misses her.”

  She laughs. “Trust me, he’d be the last person on earth she’d fall in love with. She’s been in love with someone else for a long time now.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she snaps, disappearing into the dining room with the omelette.

  Billie comes in with a stack of pancakes that I purposefully forgot to put chocolate chips in. I quickly whip up a new batch.

  The day continues in this crazy fashion until my shift ends and I have the afternoon to myself. I know what I need to do. The key to these murder cases is the girl who works at the Afghani market. The same girl I was supposed to meet in Robinson Woods the day I got buried up to my chest. She was the only person who knew I’d be there. I’ve spent the past few weeks following her every movement. Now I’ve got to make her talk.

  * * *

  I’ve observed that she works Saturdays until three. Then she usually gets a ride to Robinson Woods for her weekend walk. She thinks she’s so smart setting me up like that. Does she honestly think I’d let her get away with it? No one assaults Lucy Abbott and walks away scot free.

  I go inside the store and pretend to shop. The chef inside me can’t help but to be in awe of all the exotic goodies on the shelves. But I must keep my head down and concentrate on the task at hand. The girl is kneeling on the floor and stocking boxes in an orderly fashion. A blue hijab covers her head. Is this the same wild girl who was drinking and smoking in that cornfield? She’s so focused on what she’s doing that she doesn’t even bother to look up as I pass. This despite the fact that I’m the only American in the store.

  I purchase some flatbreads, jars of red tahini, and figs, and I head out to the van. Then I speed over and park in the lot of Robinson Woods before she arrives. While I wait for her, I take out my red wig, jeans, and a sweatshirt from my backpack. In the backseat are the newer, longer prosthetics I use when I’m in my real skin. Next to that is a stun gun and some nylon restraints I’d purchased in a shop a couple of towns over. I switch everything out as best I can, adjust the wig over my scalp so that it is taped and secure, and then apply my makeup while staring at myself in the rearview mirror. I take out the brown contact lens and reveal my blue eyes. Last, I put on false eyelashes for the first time in my life. It’s not perfect by any means, but it’s a hundred times better than being a dude. More than anything, it makes me incredibly happy to be Lucy again, even if only temporarily. For the first time in over a month, I feel at ease with myself despite what I’m about to do.

  Satisfied with my appearance, I throw a scarf over my head and make my way into the woods. It feels much like heading into battle and tending to the wounded, gunfire rattling all around me, my nerves on edge. The trail is quiet and peaceful. After fifteen minutes, I arrive at the tiny frog pond that I once frequented as a young boy. I distinctly remember Jimmy Adams catching a bullfrog and then blowing it to smithereens by lighting a firecracker in its mouth. That’s Fawn Grove youth in a nutshell. To my right there’s a large mossy boulder next to the makeshift trail where the medics carried me out.

  I make my way behind the rock and wait for the girl to arrive. With the stun gun in hand, I’m eager to find out what she will say to me, even if I have to resort to force to get it.

  * * *

  When she comes into view I notice that she’s walking with Stefania. I hadn’t expected her to have company, but I can’t back out of my plan now. Nasreen’s not wearing her hijab, and her black hair is tied neatly into a ponytail. She looks like any other normal American kid out for a stroll. It’s clear to me what a beauty she is, and I can see how popular she’d be at school. Her skin shimmers with a caramel-colored hue, and her green eyes sparkle like a wild Irish field. Why am I now only noticing this? Am I envious of her natural beauty? Does she remind me of that tragic girl from the market?

  I slip behind the boulder as they approach, gripping the stun gun in my pocket. As soon as they take the turn, I leap out from behind the rock and stick the stun gun into Stefania’s back. It troubles me what I’m doing, that I’m inflicting pain on an innocent teenage girl. I pull the trigger, and she collapses to the ground, letting out a feral scream. I take out the nylon restraints and secure her hands and ankles. Nasreen sees me doing this and freezes. Our eyes meet for a brief second before she takes off down the trail.

  “Don’t move, or I’ll come back for you,” I whisper in Stefania’s ear.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she groans.

  “I think you know who I am and how badly you’ve treated me.”

  “Lucy?”

  “That’s right,” I say. “Miss Fancy-Pants.”

  N
asreen trips over a root and falls headfirst. It allows me to make up considerable ground. She jumps to her feet and turns to face me, slowly backing away in fear. By the look in her eyes, I can tell she recognizes me. I thrust my gun hand forward and zap her in the ribs. She screams and staggers backward, her leg muscles barely able to support her thin frame. I move forward despite the intense pain shooting through my stumps, hoping that she won’t be able to get too far. But then she stumbles on a rock and lies sprawled over the dirt. I pounce on her, asking God to forgive me for what I’m about to do. Then I jab the stun gun into her side until she’s shuddering in pain. I turn her onto her stomach and stick my elbow into her spine so that she can’t move.

  I secure her wrists behind her back with the nylon restraints and pull her to her feet. She’s dazed and sobbing in hyperventilating gasps. I drag her into the woods, through a thicket of shrubs. Sweat drips off my scalp and into my eyes. When we’re out of view from the main trail, I take out another restraint and secure her to a thin birch tree located just off the trail. All this has taken the wind out of me, and I must stop and catch my breath. I crouch to her level so she can see my strained face.

  “It’s you. The devil,” she says.

  “Yes, I’m back.”

  “Stef said you left Fawn Grove for good.”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” the girl says rather bravely, which impresses me.

  “Oh, I think I will.”

  “They should have stoned your ugly face when they buried you in that hole.”

  “Who buried me? And why did you set me up like that?”

  Tears dribble from her eyes.

  “You better talk or else.”

  “What if I don’t? Are you going to kill me?”

  “No, but I’ll make sure that everyone in your community sees this.” I take out my phone and show her the clip of her and her friends in that cornfield. There’s even a close-up of her smoking weed and kissing one of the boys. Nasreen watches it for a few seconds before turning away.

  “Shut it off. I don’t want to see anymore.”

  “If I show them this, you could be the next one buried up to your chest.”

  She laughs through a veil of tears.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You and everyone else in this town are so stupid. You have no idea about my people or what they’re really like.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She begins to hyperventilate, and I wait for her to calm down. “It’s the racist people in this town who have created these lies about my community.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Not all Muslims are killers and terrorists, you know. The Afghanis are good people.”

  “I also know that Muslims are not supposed to drink alcohol or smoke pot.”

  “So I screwed up.” She regains her bravery. “Yes, my parents would be upset if they saw that video, but so would any parent.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Do you really believe an immigrant killed those two kids?”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” I hear Stefania in the background calling out for help. I position the stun gun to Nasreen’s neck. “If you say anything, I’ll do it.”

  “Go ahead. It’ll only hurt for a short time.”

  “Yes, but it will hurt really bad. So don’t make me do it.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I have a feeling you know what happened to those kids.”

  “You have no proof of anything,” she says. “Besides, I’ll end up like Sulafi if I say anything.”

  “It might be worse if you don’t talk.”

  She smiles bravely in defiance. “So are you going to hurt me or not?”

  “Who buried me in that hole?”

  “You should have never come to our neighborhood and attacked Tarek in front of his wife. Do you know how humiliating that is for a Muslim man? To be struck by a woman in front of his own wife? Everyone there is angry with you, and at all the racists in this town who want to kick us out simply because we left our war torn country.”

  “Where were you on the day I was attacked?”

  “I came here but you never showed. So I left.”

  “You never saw me?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you want,” she says. “So go ahead and show that video if you like. If they end up killing me like you believe they will, then my blood will be on your hands.”

  Her words frighten me because I know she’s right.

  I walk briskly out of the woods and toward the entrance to the park. As soon as I hit the trail I hear both girls shouting for help. The trail snakes back around until it ends up at the parking lot. By the time I reach my van, I realize that I’m sweating profusely. An elderly couple wanders past me before disappearing into the entrance to the woods. I climb inside the van and move to the rear, where I rip off the wig. Using a wet tissue, I wipe the makeup from my face and remove the false eyelashes. It pains me to leave Lucy behind, but I must act quickly before anyone sees her. I tie the do-rag around my head, change back into my brown contact lenses, put on my glasses, and then switch prosthetics so that I’m once again Iggy.

  I arrive at my father’s house more confused than ever about the state of affairs in Fawn Grove. Disappointment sets in upon realizing that I extracted nothing useful from the girl. My legs sear as I hobble through the front door. Maybe Nasreen is right and her community has been falsely demonized. Then who killed those two kids?

  My father comes in after stacking wood. He sits across from me and lights up a joint. When it’s lit he inhales deeply. He looks emaciated, and I wish he’d tell me what’s wrong with him. After a few more hits, he leans over and offers me a toke, but I decline. I don’t want to get high and lose my train of thought. I need my wits about me if I’m to figure out who killed these kids.

  I turn on the radio I’d purchased and hear “Girl of My Dreams” by Angus Gibbons. Turning the knob, I find the news station and lie back on the couch.

  “You okay, son? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m not your son anymore, Dad. Get it through your thick skull.”

  “Sorry,” he says, taken aback by my reply. “It’s going to take some time before I get used to all your changes.”

  “Jaxon’s gone and he’s never coming back. My name is Lucy now, no matter how I look to you.”

  “Okay, take it easy,” he says. “Care to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  “ No.”

  “Better time than any.”

  “If you’d bothered to return my calls all those years ago, then maybe you’d know something about me,” I snap.

  “I was hitting the bottle pretty hard after I split from your mother. Lost my job at the mill and was down on my luck. I didn’t talk to your sister for years.”

  “But you do now.”

  “We get together every so often. It’s not the best of circumstances, mind you, but it works for us. In fact, I’m supposed to pick up her and Russ today. But since you got home so late, I’m clearly in no condition to drive.”

  “Maybe you should lay off the weed then and try to stay sober.”

  “Weed’s the only thing keeping me going.” He laughs. “Your sister and Russ have been looking to hire someone to drive them around to doctors’ appointments and help them run errands. I’ve been doing it until they can find someone, but it’s getting harder for me.”

  “Harder in what way?”

  “Harder in that I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Care to tell me the real reason you left Mom after she was diagnosed with cancer?”

  “It freaked me out when she came down sick. I couldn’t handle the responsibility of taking over all the household duties and then dealing with her illness. I’d always wanted to play in a band. Then I lost my job at the mill and e
verything went to hell.” He shrugs. “By the time I realized I’d screwed up, she didn’t want nothing to do with me.”

  “You were hoping to get back with Mom?”

  “Of course. Your mother was a wonderful woman who didn’t deserve a hound dog like me. But it was too late for second chances.” He takes another hit off the joint. “Never said I was a good father or husband. At least I was able to apologize to her before she died.”

  “I was only sixteen when you left. Did you have any idea how that affected me?”

  “There are things I wish I could take back. Saying I’m sorry will never make it right with you, Lucy. I know that.”

  “You hurt me bad.”

  “Is that why you wanted to be a woman? Because I abandoned you and your mother?”

  I break out laughing. “Hell, no, Dad. Your shitty behavior had nothing to do with my wanting to be a woman. I would have been this way no matter what you did.”

  “That makes me feel a little better,” he says, looking relieved. “All the same, I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

  “I want to forgive you, I really do.”

  He laughs and takes another hit.

  “Maybe if you didn’t smoke so much weed, you’d be more productive.”

  “Why don’t you drive over there and help your sister out?”

  “Me?”

  “She pays ten bucks an hour and it’s easy money. I told her she didn’t need to pay me, but she insists.”

  “But I’d be lying to her if I went over there dressed like this.”

  “You’re lying to everyone anyway wearing that disguise. Might as well be of some use while you’re at it.”

  “She can’t know who I am.”

  “Then don’t tell her. I’ll call and tell her I found someone to drive them around. A guy down at the diner looking to earn a few extra bucks.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “She’s your sister and she needs you. God knows that spoiled child of hers doesn’t lift a finger to help them.”

  “You think Brynn’s spoiled?”