He takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. “Rayleigh,” he tries to say, but that’s all that comes out.
I try to take control of the situation. I take his hand and direct him to the back room, where several chairs from the writer’s group are neatly stacked. I grab one and set it in front of him. He sits down immediately and begins to cry even more. It wrenches my heart, and I want to put my arms around him and let him cry. I want to make him realize I am here for him, that it is the very least I can do.
“Pug, whatever it is,” I say. “You can tell me. Or not tell me. Okay? But I’m here for you. Can I get you anything?”
“A glass of water?” he says, barely audible. He’s ashamed of his tears. He hates himself for it. I can tell. This is the most difficult thing in the world for him.
I go to the sink where the coffee pot is and fill a plastic, red cup. He takes it gratefully and drinks half in one gulp.
“Pug, you look bad,” I say. “I mean…I’m sorry. But, you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping well. I want you to tell me what’s wrong. You look skinnier than when I saw you last, too.”
For a second, I think he is going to tell me. For a second, I hope it is drugs because I think that’ll be better than what he’s actually going to tell me. I think of the cemetery, where he met Emma, and I feel another chill. The chills are bombarding me lately. I wish the sun would come out suddenly and add some light to this dark, gloomy, terrible, very sad day.
“Rayleigh,” he says, in a shaky voice. “I’m…”
I wait for him to go on. I want him to tell me on his own terms.
“I’m…I’m scared, Rayleigh.”
I still think it could be drugs, but I know what’s about to come. I close my eyes, preparing for it. I tell myself it’s not going to be what I think it is, but I know better. There is no way to prepare for what he is about to say.
“Emma,” he says, and buries his face in his hands. He howls in frustration. He clenches and fights, and I can tell he wants to break something suddenly. He has gone from anguish to rage in a span of seconds.
“What about Emma, Pug?” I say.
He stomps his worn tennis shoes like a spoiled brat. He shakes his head. “What did you do to her, Rayleigh?” he says. The accusation makes my blood run cold. “In God’s name, what did you do to her?”
His voice is like cold steel. He has never used that tone with me before. I’m not sure how to describe what it does to me. For an instant, I am back in time, and I can see Ricky Bradford accusing me of having sex with Janeen. I can see Janeen telling Ricky all the secrets we had. I can see Emma—whoever she is (another version of Janeen?)—repeating this endless nightmare, only now she is doing it with Pug, and she is turning Pug against me. She is draining Pug of every ounce of energy. She is killing my friend. She is laughing at me, and she is winning. I hate that fucking bitch!
“Pug,” I say, very carefully. “I don’t think you should see Emma anymore. I think she’s dangerous.”
“She says you used to love her,” he says, suddenly. He still cannot bring himself to look at me, as if he doesn’t trust his words. I hope this is true. But there is still anguish in his voice, and he is still crying. “She says you used to…used to…”
I’m glad he doesn’t say it. I wonder how many other people are affected by my past. I wonder what is going to happen to Lewis, my mother and father. George and Lacey. I look over and Junky is staring at me with very creepy, orange eyes. I wish to God Junky would show some compassion for once.
“Pug, I’m very scared for you. I want to help you. But you have to let me help you. Okay? You’re scaring me, too.”
He starts crying again. I keep waiting for Pug to tell me more, to say something, a story that has driven him to this. But Pug only says something that confirms it all, and it’s enough. Through his wracking sobs, his constant fits of trembling, he says:
“Rayleigh?” Pug pauses for a long time. “She’s killing me. And I can’t do anything about it. It’s like she’s hungry, and she’s eating me piece by piece. She’s killing me, Ray. And there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.”
Pug buries his head in his hands and weeps some more. In my head, I hear laughter. I can’t tell if it’s Carmilla, Janeen, or Emma. I guess, maybe, it could be all three. Why wouldn’t it be? None of this makes sense. I wonder if all these entities, these alter-egos are part of Janeen’s creation, or if it’s just my own madness, a combination of the two to make me even more confused.
I have never been more afraid in my life. I think the only way to stop this madness is to kill myself. That is the only way to prevent my friends from dying. And by the looks of things, I had better act soon.
~
“Mom?”
“Rayleigh! What a surprise. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Mom. How are you?”
“Fine. Are you okay? You don’t normally call unless something’s bothering you.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I say into the mouthpiece. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Is Dad okay?”
“Of course, dear. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rayleigh, is something wrong?”
“No, Mom. Well…I have a favor to ask. It would mean a lot to me.”
“Anything, dear. What is it?”
I take a deep breath. This is crazy. I feel like I’m going crazy. I feel like the entire universe is spinning dangerously out of control. I don’t know what to do about it but get the ball rolling. Enough is enough.
“Mom. I have a friend. He’s going through a pretty rough time. He can’t go home. I was wondering if he could stay with you for a while, just a few days.” I pause long enough, then say, “I have to leave town.”
“Rayleigh, are you okay? You’re scaring me.”
You’re scared, I want to say. You have no idea.
“Please, Mom. I’ll tell you everything later. It would mean a lot to me. He’s a good kid. His name is Pug. He’s had some problems at home, and he needs a warm place to stay where the cook never fails. He could use a good bed to sleep in and some hot meals. He looks like he belongs on another planet, but he’s a good kid. I would let him stay at my house, but I’m not going to be there, and I don’t want him to be alone. I want him to be around people who will keep an eye on him.”
“Rayleigh, I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”
“Mom, his dad is a total asshole. Pug can’t go home. His dad will kill him. He’s been starving the kid for a week, not letting him in the house at all. It’s horrible. Pug looks bad and needs to get better. Please, Mom. I can pay you five bucks a day.”
“For crying out loud, Rayleigh! You don’t have to pay me. I’ll be glad to do it.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. You won’t regret it.”
I hope.
“Pug?” my mom says. “That’s an interesting name.”
“He’s a good kid. Junky says hi.”
“That awful cat.”
“I’ll bring him by tonight, Mom, is that okay? Pug, not the cat.”
“Yes.”
“Will Dad be okay with it?”
“He doesn’t wear the pants in this family, dear.”
For the first time today, I manage a chuckle. My mom’s obnoxious, but I love her.
“Thank’s, Mom. I’ll see you later.”
“I hope you’re okay.”
“Swell,” I say.
“Goodbye, Rayleigh. Be careful.”
“Will do, Mom,” I say, and hang up.
~
I embrace Pug for a long time. His tears have subsided. I don’t ask him to go into the details of all that’s happened to him. I don’t need him to. The pain on his face is answer enough.
After I get off the phone and hold him tight, I am thankful for my mother. I know she will take good care of him for as long as I’m gone.
Few customers come into The Broken Spine. Pug is quiet as
the day trudges by, but he seems better after I get some breakfast from the nearest fast-food joint. He helps me organize the store, and after a while, he is dusting the shelves and wiping the fingerprints off the door. The store has never looked better. Even Junky seems pleased. I think all this is helping Pug take his mind off things. His tears have subsided, and he has actually smiled a couple of times.
I get us both lunch. Pug eats a double cheeseburger, a large fry, and a large coke in about five minutes, but the color has returned to his cheeks, and his eyes seem more focused. Pug gives Junky several of his French fries, and Junky looks at me—doing everything but sticking out his tongue. Not long after lunch, I suggest closing down the shop. Pug seems nervous about meeting my parents. But I figure, for some reason, I want Pug at my folks’ house before it gets dark, or before he changes his mind. In a way, I think he’s relieved to be staying somewhere besides home, even if it is with total strangers.
I lock up shop and thank Pug for helping me clean up. We leave Junky inside. We walk up to Lincoln Avenue and take the bus to Speer Boulevard. I pay our fare. We got off at Speer and Franklin and walk through the chilly, misty day, until we come to my folks’ house.
~
“Are you sure you want to do this, Ray?” Pug asks me as we stand on the sidewalk, not quite on the path to my parents’ Tudor.
“Yes, Pug,” I say. “And I don’t want you to worry. My parents are cool. My dad will make you feel right at home, and Mom is the best cook in the world. You can play pool downstairs and watch the big screen. They’ll probably want to adopt you.”
He nods, but he seems unsure. He’s more worried about being a burden. “Thanks, Rayleigh.”
I shrug.
We walk up the porch, and I ring the doorbell. Mom opens the door roughly ten seconds later. She is wearing casual clothes. A long, beige-colored shirt covers her ample hips. She’s wearing jeans, no shoes. Her hair is up in a big, black clip. Her eyes are enormous. Do I look like that, I think?
“Rayleigh,” she says, slightly irritated. “Why didn’t you call? I could’ve come down and picked you up.”
“Thought some fresh air would do us some good,” I say.
She frowns and shakes her head. She looks at Pug and smiles. His modern, rebellious dress does not faze her. Thanks, Mom.
“Mom, this is Pug,” I say. “He doesn’t clean up too well after himself, but he’s always on time with the rent, and he never says a word.”
Pug looks over at me and smiles. Mom’s reply is different:
“Rayleigh, be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious,” I say.
I can’t believe with all that’s happening, I have the capacity to joke around, but right now, all my thoughts are on Pug, and I want him to laugh. Seeing him smile is a relief, at least.
“Hi, Mrs. Thorn,” Pug says. “I feel a little awkward about all this.”
“Nonsense,” Mom says. “Well, don’t just stand out there in the cold. Come in.”
Mom steps aside and pushes the door open wider, so we can walk inside. Pug steps in like a beaten puppy, not sure if this is a good idea or not. He looks at the house with something like fear, awe, and intimidation.
“Welcome home,” I say. “Mom’ll probably treat you better than she does me. She always wanted a boy.”
“Rayleigh, that’s enough!” my mother says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Wow,” Pug says. He seems to be standing in the presence of royalty, but I know he’s just not used to it. It went stale on me years ago, so it’s nice to see someone appreciating what I don’t appreciate anymore.
“Don’t let it depress you, big boy,” I say. “It’s just a house.”
“Your father will be home in a couple of hours,” my mom says.
I nod. Pug looks frightened at the concept.
“Dad’s great, Pug,” I say. “You’ll like him. He’s all show. He’s just a big teddy bear.”
Pug heaves a great big sigh. “Well, Mrs. Thorn,” Pug says, like a gentleman. “Is there anything I can help you out with? I like to earn my keep.”
Mom looks and me and smiles. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” Mom says, turning back to Pug. “Call me, Dorothy.”
The kid looks bad now, but he’s gonna be all right.
~
Pug is off exploring after I say goodbye to him. Mom tries to coral me before I hit the door. “Rayleigh, I want to talk to you,” she says.
I sigh and roll my eyes in dramatic fashion. She hates it when I do that. “Come on, Mom. I can’t talk about it now. It’s a long story, and I got to get back to the store.”
“Rayleigh, you have me worried to death.” She folds her arms. She always looks like a drill sergeant when she does that. “Your father’s gonna be worried when I tell him, too. At least let me have something.”
“Mom,” I say. “It’s okay. Honest. I want to go back home for a while.”
She thinks I mean my apartment, but I don’t.
“Louisville, Mom,” I say.
Her face drops. “For God’s sake, Rayleigh. What for?”
I take another deep breath. “Please, Mom,” I say. “This isn’t easy for me. I want to see the house again. Pug’s been in a lot of trouble lately, and I want to make sure he’s all right. I know this sounds crazy, but I think I can help him. I just have to go to Louisville. There’s some things I have to do there. Please, Mom. Just understand, okay? Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is.”
She closes her eyes. I can tell she is on the verge of tears, and I hate myself for doing this to her, but I can’t avoid it now. She changes the subject. “How’s Lewis?” she asks.
“We’re getting married in the fall,” I say.
She rolls her eyes at me this time, shakes her head, and sighs. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“I get it from my mother,” I say.
I hug her. We hold onto each other for a long time.
“I love you, Mom,” I say.
“I love you, too. Call me the minute you get back. I’ll try not to make your father worry.”
“Thank you.”
We look at each other for a long time. I want to tell her something like, ‘Tell Dad I love him, too.’ But I don’t want anything to sound final.
“Take good care of Pug, Mom. He means a lot to me. He’s a good kid. He was dealt some crap cards. I know you’ll like him once you get to know him. And make sure Dad goes easy on him.”
“I already like him. He smells a little funny. I was thinking of buying him some clothes if he’ll let me.”
“You’re the best.”
She nods. She’s trying hard to hold back tears. I can tell, in a way, this is a strange goodbye in its own right.
I holler to Pug, wherever he is:
“Bye Pug!”
I hear his voice. He sounds lost. “I can’t turn on the big screen!” he shouts back.
My mother and I both look at each other and laugh.
“You’d better go save him,” I say.
She hugs me one last time, and I finally make my way outside. It’s one of the hardest partings I’ve ever had with my mother. I try not to cry as I make my way back down the street, toward the bookstore. I don’t take the bus, because suddenly I can’t help the tears. I don’t want anyone to see me, and I’m glad it’s raining.
~
They call it the unexpected for a reason.
Suddenly, that simple word ‘afraid’ means so much more to me now.
When I get to The Broken Spine, my heart falls into my stomach. My eyes widen. There are no police cars. Not yet.
The large front window, the one depicting a monster with massive claws tearing apart a paperback, is now a billion particles of shiny wet glass on the sidewalk. The window has been shattered in ways a simple rock would not do. For some strange reason, no one is around. The door is ajar. The sign still says Open. I look inside, unable to believe what I’m looking at. I’m on automatic pilot sudd
enly. If it were up to me, I would turn and run. I would not choose to see this. I do not want to walk inside, for fear this place—my bookstore, the place I love—is now a deathtrap.
I do not walk inside just yet. Every bookshelf inside has been overturned. Pug’s hard work cleaning my store is all for nothing because now it is a complete disaster. The posters and fliers hanging on the door are ripped and torn all over the floor. My eyes are bugging out of my head in numbed, disbelieving shock. With the breeze in the air, some tatters of paper have made it outside and onto the sidewalk. The books, I notice, upon closer scrutiny, have been torn and shredded, giving a literal meaning to the name, The Broken Spine. No lie. I have prophesied this somehow. My bookstore I have worked so hard for is not only ruined, but utterly destroyed. Nothing inside looks remotely salvageable.
I finally step inside, my feet crunching on broken glass. I feel like crying, but I can’t muster the tears. I’m feeling too much shock. My body has lost all feeling. Some of the glass on the front door cracks wider when I push it open, nudging broken books across the floor.
Adding to my horror, my cold, terrifying shock, I see a message scrawled on the bare wall to my right in what can only be blood: I SPARED NOTHING, DEAREST!
I hear Janeen laughing at me.
In the next instant, like a shotgun blast, I think of Junky. I do not see Junky anywhere, and my eyes keep going back to the message scrawled across the wall. Only one patron was in the bookstore when I left, and now I know it’s Junky’s blood I’m looking at. No matter what happens to me now, I know Janeen is the cruelest, most blood-thirsty bitch evil has ever created, and there’s nothing I’d love more than to cut her eyes out with a dull knife and roast her over open flames.
Tears of rage and sorrow spring to my eyes with the thought of my dead cat. Killing Junky is beyond callous. It is conscienceless, cruel, and meaningless. It is downright sadistic and blatantly evil. I want Janeen to die!
I fall to my knees, clutch the broken pages of books on the ground, broken covers, the torn and tattered ruins of what remains of my bookstore and howl with all the rage I can muster:
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