by HJ Lawson
She continues to watch me through the mirror, as her top keeps moving up and down. Oh goodness, she’s cleaning her breast.
Jesus, I will never get used to this crazy lifestyle. I avert my eyes away from her to the ground.
“Stop dripping blood on my bathroom floor. Come here, sugar… let Meemo clean you up.” She pushes her arm away from her breast and holds up a blackened cloth.
Oh, God, no. I quickly move to avoid letting her touch my face with the filthy rag.
“Thank you, but I can use these,” I say, waving the hand tissues.
“No problem, sweetie pie. Come here and get some water on it.” She ushers me over to the sink.
I get the tissues wet and begin cleaning my face. Troy really went to town on me. There’s an angry bruise appearing on my chin, and my busted lip is dripping blood.
“Sweetie pie, sweetie pie, are you okay?”
“Sorry, yeah… what’s your name?” I ask.
“Meemo, sugar. What's yours?” Meemo’s face lights up with the question. She’s a larger-than-life African American lady, about three times bigger than I am. She is clearly homeless, and I see she has her bags in the corner of the bathroom.
“I’m Annabel.” I smile back at her. She looks to be the same age as my grandma. I miss my grandma.
“Are you okay, sugar?” Meemo asks again.
I nod and continue to wipe at my face. “Yeah, sorry, rough day,” I murmur. “But you should see the other guy.”
Meemo’s laughter bounces off the small bathroom walls. It is contagious, and soon I’m joining in. We watch ourselves laugh in the mirror… we both look like crazy women! Meemo, with wild afro hair with a teal hair brush stuck in it, and me, with my white and pink hair and mangled face.
It feels good to laugh. It gives me hope.
“Meemo?”
“Yes, sugar?”
“Did you hear about the attack on Rikers Island?”
“No, sugar, what happened?”
“Terrorist attack… they’ve stopped all the subways.”
“Oh, that explains why you’re the only person I’ve shouted at today,” Meemo says and grins.
“Why did you do that? Are you crazy, or just pretending?”
Meemo’s laughter fills the room once again. “You’re the first person who has ever asked me that, out of all the different doctors I’ve been to over the last twenty years!”
She seems very pleased with herself, smiling mischievously as she works out her reply.
“Sugar, I’ve been this way for so many years… I think I am crazy, but it’s like an alcoholic; once they know they’re an alcoholic, do they stop? Does this mean, because I know I’m crazy, does this mean I’m no longer crazy?” She looks at me wide-eyed.
“I guess so.” I smile and shrug my shoulders as I reply.
“Oh, I liked being crazy. Ha, ha, ha…”
“Oh, well, maybe you are then.” What am I supposed to say here?
“Ha. I’m only kidding with you, sweetie pie. Of course I’m crazy! We all are!” She grabs hold of me before I have a chance to move out of the way. Her large, overgrown breasts hit me straight in the face.
“Meemo, I can’t breathe.”
She steps back and laughs as she readjusts her top. “Sorry, sugar, these puppies get in the way!”
We both continue to laugh; this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
“Annabel, you okay in there?” Brandon’s voice comes from the bathroom door.
Time to leave the crazy circus and head back to the real world. “Thank you for sharing your bathroom with me. Gotta run.”
“Be safe, sugar.”
Chapter 19
Two weeks earlier.
ETHAN
Bye, Bye Uncle Sam.
Humans are creatures of habit.
I’m waiting outside the Angels Strip Club, just as I’ve done every evening since I met Cody James on my commute to work. He sits in the club watching the whores dance for him, as they parade their bodies around like pieces of meat, hoping for a bite.
He then staggers out of the club and passes out in his car. He’s awakened by a call, then frantically collects his children and takes them to school. He sleeps for the rest of the day, and does this routine every weekday. The only difference is on the weekends, when he doesn’t have to pick the children up. He stays in the club until it closes and they have to throw him out. Then, around thirty minutes later, the staff starts to trickle out. I am waiting for my window.
One, Two, Three…
The club door swings open. A large overweight bouncer is carrying Cody with one arm. He places him against a wall next to the club, just as he does every night.
The bouncer speaks to him for a moment and then goes back into the club.
My turn.
Grabbing the six-pack of beers from the passenger seat, I carefully exit the car, trying not to make a sound. Cody doesn’t look towards me.
Time to pretend to be drunk. I’ve watched him enough nights, so this won’t be hard. Adding a sway and a wobble to my walk, I stagger in his direction. His head is drooping down, almost touching his knees. I hope he doesn’t pass out before I get to him.
“Hey, mate,” I yell to him, trying to rouse him.
No reply.
“Hey, mate, you want a beer?” I shout. I’m almost standing over him now.
Cody grunts and lifts his hand. I crack one of the cans open and stealthily slip the hidden contents from my palm into the small mouth opening. Then I give it to him.
“Is the club closed?” I ask innocently.
Cody takes a long swig off the laced beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Bitches need their sleep as well,” Cody cracks.
You will be the one sleeping.
“No worries; there’s another bar across the tracks,” I tell him.
Cody takes another swig of beer and falls over… just as I had hoped.
I swiftly place one hand over his mouth and nose, covering them with the chloroform cloth. My other hand is on the back of his head, holding him tightly.
Breathe in.
He struggles for what feels a lifetime, but is really only a few minutes, before going limp, and his body becomes deadweight. Perfect.
One… Two… Three.
I release the cloth from his mouth; his head droops down onto his knees once more.
I quickly pick up the beer can from the floor. I cannot leave any trace of myself.
Adrenaline sweeps through me just at the right point as I pick up Cody’s body. I stagger over to my car with him under my arm. We look like two drunken men about to go home.
The drive back to his house is almost 20 minutes away. Out of this whole process, this is the part I dislike the most – I am out in the open.
I pray to my father to protect me as I drive; he always does, because I am doing his work.
Finally we are here. The street is silent; it is the middle of the night and everyone is sleeping.
I gather my bag from beneath the passenger seat, then I steal a glance at Cody. His eyeballs are fluttering behind his eyelids.
Enjoy your dream… it is your last.
I reach into his pants pocket to take his door keys. Time to get my prize.
In order to drag Cody’s dead-weight body from the car, I place him into a sitting position. Then I pull him from the car. If anyone is watching, they’ll just think a friend is helping him home.
Closing the car door silently behind me, I head inside with him.
I dump his body onto the carpet in the hallway and shut the front door.
“Hello, Cody’s home!” I call out.
The house is silent except for Cody’s heavy breathing. I know no one is here, but I have to be sure.
“Hello!” I run up the stairs and check all the rooms in the house. Empty.
Perfect.
I place latex gloves over my hands and drag Cody’s body into the kitchen. Then I lift him
onto a chair. Maybe he used to eat meals with his family here.
Today, you are having your last meal.
The sound of the black tape ripping in my hands makes the most awful, loud sound; it screeches all through the kitchen.
First I secure his hands firmly on the chair, and then his legs. Cody lets out a zombie-like groan, as the drugs begin to fade from his system.
Quickly, I insert a white, plastic kitchen funnel into his mouth. I love how everyday gadgets can have more than one use.
I rip some more tape from the roll and wrap it carefully around the plastic funnel and Cody’s mouth. I don’t want him to spill a drop.
His head begins to twitch as he tries to wake himself up.
Don’t worry, I will help you.
“Hey, Cody, would you like another drink?”
He just grunts.
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
Twisting the top of the vodka bottle until the lid snaps, I sniff the contents inside. The smell alone gives my body a shudder; it is pure evil.
“One shot or two, sir?”
Cody grunts once more; he is coming around, just in time.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that. Let’s make it two shots.”
I pour the vodka down the funnel; he has no choice but to drink it, and his mouth is like a gaping hole, eagerly awaiting its favorite poison.
“Argh!” Cody lets out a wide-eyed cry.
“Thank you for joining me.”
His face turns white.
“What, are you not happy to see me?” I ask him. “That is no way to treat a guest!”
I start to pour more vodka down the funnel. Cody struggles against the bindings, and his knuckles turn white as he twists in the chair.
I stop pouring.
“Now, Cody… I hear that you have been a very bad man.”
Cody shakes his head frantically.
Why do they always lie? Father, I gave him the chance but he refused.
The clear fluid pours down the funnel once more. Cody beings to choke and retch, spraying liquid everywhere. I stop pouring; I don’t want him to drown on me.
I lean over and peer down at him. “Let’s try that again. Have you been telling lies?”
Cody doesn’t move for a moment. And then he nods his head up and down.
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Cody shakes his head once more. Tears are streaming out of the corners of his bloodshot eyes.
“Are you ready to repent of your sins?” I ask. He just stares at me like he’s lost.
I take a grip of his hair and rip his head backwards as I pour the vodka down his throat once more. I don’t have time for these games!
“Are you ready to repent of your sins?” I ask, as Cody coughs and spits again. Finally he nods.
I take out my handgun with the silencer and the voice recorder and place them on the table.
“You scream, and I will kill you.”
He nods.
I rip the tape from his mouth. He instantly spits out the funnel and gasps for air.
“What the hell are you doing?” he gasps. “Get me out of this god dammed chair!”
“Cody, I think you are a little confused… I will blame the vodka for that. You are the one taped to the chair. I am the one who has the gun. So I am the one giving the orders. Do you understand?”
“Get me out of here!” he yells.
They never listen!
Before Cody can make another peep, I have my gun pressing against his temple.
“Do you understand?” I repeat, slowly.
Cody stops moving. And then he nods.
“Good, that’s better. Now let’s get to work.” I smile at Cody’s puzzled expression. “I have been informed that you killed a young boy and left a woman paralyzed.”
“No! I was found not guilty!” he cries. I tap him once more on his head with my gun.
“Time is running out; you have to tell me the truth.”
“Who the hell are you?” Cody asks.
“Don’t worry who I am… Did you kill them?”
“Fuck off!”
Wrong answer. My fist flies into his gut.
Gripping his head back once more, I pour more vodka down his throat without the help of the funnel. Then I pin my hand down over his mouth and nose.
Ouch! He bites the palm of my hand, and my fist flies into his gut once more. Cody yells in pain.
“We can do this all night until you are dead, or you can start telling the truth!”
“What do you want me to say?” he groans.
“The truth.” I hold the recorder up to his mouth. “Tell them that you are guilty and repent of your sins.”
“Please let me go,” he begs. “I won’t say anything. I have a family…. See the pictures on the fridge?”
I glance over my shoulder and see the photo of him and his girls when they were younger.
“Speak, or they will be next — a child for a child.”
Fear washes over his face. Maybe he does care about someone after all.
“Which child would you like me to select?” I continue. “The smaller one? Or the bigger one?”
“Leave them alone!”
“Then speak!” I click the button to record. Cody just looks at me with a blank stare, not sure what to do.
I will help him.
I point the gun over to the photograph on the fridge, moving it from one child to the next, as I smile at him.
Cody nods toward the voice recorder, indicating for me to turn it on. He is ready to confess.
“It was an accident,” he whispers.
I wave my hands in the air. Speak up!
“It was an accident,” Cody repeats louder, and then he falls silent.
I wave my hands again and mouth the word, “more.”
“They walked out onto the crosswalk, and I didn’t see them.” Cody lowers his head in shame. Finally, he is showing some signs of remorse.
“Why?” I press.
“Because… I was drunk!” he snaps.
I lower the recorder and take my finger off the ‘record’ button. That is all I need.
“There, I said what you wanted me to say… NOW LET ME GO!”
I punch him in the gut one more time. I will let you go soon, and you will wish you had never asked me to.
I push the vodka bottle into his mouth again, pouring the remainder of the liquid down his throat. Then I squash a cloth over his mouth. Cody thrashes his head around as he tries to get out of my hold, but his body is getting weaker.
“Remember who is in charge!” I yell.
He falls silent and stops moving.
I walk over to the fridge and study the picture of his children.
“Where is their mother?” I ask.
Cody’s eyes open even wider as he realizes I know more about him.
“Who are you?” he asks calmly.
I give him a cool smile. “A friend… sent to help you repent of your sins.”
Cody looks puzzled by my reply.
“You have to repent of them all,” I explain. “Where is your wife?”
“She’s dead,” he says soullessly.
“Did you kill her as well?”
Cody stares down to the kitchen floor and nods.
“Shall I take that as a yes?”
“Yes, I killed her… I killed her, okay? Now let me go!” he yells without an ounce of guilt.
I shake my head and smile again. “Sorry… you took too long to repent of your sins. The cyanide and vodka mix is already flowing through your veins.”
“What?” A look of utter horror fills his eyes.
“You only have a few more moments to live. Is there anything you would like to say to your daughters?” I hold the recorder up to his mouth again as I watch his skin turn green.
“Speak now!”
“I’m sorry… I love you two.”
Perfect!
Then Cody’s eyes roll back and his head slumps down.
Enjoy hell.
Chapter 20
Day of Firsts.
ANNABEL
Tourists are wandering around the city as usual; they seem not to know that prisoners are on the loose.
Occasionally, I’ll wander around like a tourist, blending in with them so they're unaware that I'm homeless. On a sunny day I’ll walk over the Brooklyn Bridge and lie on the grass, pretending that I am a kid again. But not the kid from my childhood… more like the ones you see on TV. Where everyone is happy and smiling and without a worry in the world. Everything would be much simpler if I lived a life like that.
New York City can be beautiful, but it’s being poisoned. Drugs run through its veins and are spreading like an evil cancer.
I have to leave the city before I catch the disease that robbed my parents of their lives, and me of my childhood.
As I look around, it's clear that most people are going about their daily routines as if nothing is different.
“How much is the ticket?” Brandon asks.
I’ve never taken the ferry from Brooklyn to the city before. Normally I’d just walk over the bridge, but today I’m just too damn tired.
“No clue, never been on it,” I reply. “Have you?”
“Nope, always walk or ride the subway.”
“Looks like they haven’t cancelled the ferries yet.” Brandon motions toward the boat pulling in.
I sense the people behind me are eager to get to the front. They want their tickets at any cost! The line gets tighter and tighter as people press together. I feel dizzy, as if I’m going to faint.
“Come on. We’re next.” Brandon’s voice breaks my spell. That’s all we need — me passing out on the ground and having a police officer come over to see what’s up.
“Okay, let’s figure this out… what happened to the days when you bought a ticket from a person, not a bloody computer?” Brandon laughs, as he stabs the computer screen with his finger. “What day is it?”
“What?”
“It's Tuesday! Some of us have to get to work!” a woman snaps at us, scowling with her eyes through her glasses.
“Keep your hair on!” Brandon sneers. She huffs and folds her arms. “Oh, okay… it's only four dollars each. That’s not too bad.” Brandon inserts a crisp twenty-dollar note into the machine. “Cheers, Troy.”
