Primrose & Brimstone

by Mueller, Jason

  She screamed, mashed the pedal speeding off leaving the clown and the carnival behind her. All she wanted was to pick up Abby, go home, and forget this nightmare.

  Three weeks later

  After one more peek at the baby, Sandy locked the front door and padded to the bathroom. Finally, the baby was asleep. Shower time! she thought gleefully. Turning the shower on, she stripped out of her jeans and t-shirt and stood looking at herself in the mirror. Not bad for just having a baby a couple of months ago, she mused as she turned side to side inspecting her body. Her figure had changed since having Abby three months ago, she thought she was more womanly now with her fuller breasts and belly.

  I’m not fat though; I’m thick and sexy. I just hope Jack still finds me attractive.

  The steam from the shower slowly obscured her image as she watched, mesmerized, until she was gone.

  She went to the cabinet to get a towel and washcloth, and, as she was stepping into the shower, she heard the front door slam shut. A shiver went down her entire body as fear took hold. She and Abby were alone while Jack was finishing his tour in Afghanistan. She timidly went to the door and peeked out down the long hallway, but saw nothing. Then, the footsteps started toward her, rapidly approaching as if someone were wearing very large shoes or boots.

  Then the whistling began. Pop Goes the Weasel.

  She couldn’t believe it; the clown was back. But she couldn’t see it, just hear that damn song. Sandy ducked back into the bathroom with a yelp and locked the door behind her. As she twisted the lock, feelings of guilt for leaving Abby alone assailed her, but what could she do?

  She put her ear to the door. Nothing. Not a sound. Had she imagined it? Surely, she didn’t just imagine all of that from being a little frightened.

  How could she imagine friggin’ Pop Goes the Weasel? she thought to herself as she panted against the door.

  Trembling, she opened it. She had to know if something was out there and if Abby was safe. She stuck her head out, but there was nothing. No one, and no sound. She made her way down the hall. I’ve never been afraid of the daylight, this is silly, she admonished. She looked in on Abby, relieved to find she was still sleeping like an angel.

  Starting to feel better, she made a quick check of the house and found nothing. Am I losing my mind? she began to wonder as she scampered back to the bathroom, hoping no one was looking in the windows.

  Stepping in the bathroom, she froze in horror at the mirror when she noticed a large handprint. It was larger than a man’s by more than double, she guessed. She frantically searched through the steamy bathroom but there was no one in there with her that she could see.

  A cold breeze blew on her naked skin sending instantaneous goose bumps and chills racing along her spine. Her eyes snapped back to the mirror. As she watched the reflection in terror, an invisible figure started to write slowly on the foggy glass. Her heart felt as if it were going to stop beating as each letter appeared.

  Finally, it was done. The message read, Want Abby.

  She stood in front of the mirror dumbfounded as the realization hit her that someone or something wanted her baby.

  “NO!” she shouted hoping that she could scare away whatever it was that was threatening her and her baby.

  An almost electrical feeling arced its way through the bathroom. The mirror began fogging over again, and, in desperation, she reached out with the washcloth in her hand and made a single swipe across the glass.

  IT WAS THE CLOWN!

  The evil smile looked as though it would split its face, the black eyes seemingly leered at her.

  “Get out!” Sandy screamed frantically. Images of the old fortune teller and the chase out of the carnival flashing through her mind. As she stared, dumbstruck, the clown began to grow fuzzy and to dissolve and in its place, something much worse.

  Reflected behind her was a creature that her mind could not even fathom. Towering over her was a black, leathery skinned creature with teeth that seemed to jut from its mouth in razor sharp points. Its eyes were a blackish-red with flashes of yellow, she noticed as they stared back at her menacingly.

  Sandy screamed and, in a flash, her face was slamming through the glass on the mirror. Knocked senseless, her face was cut and bleeding profusely. She felt strong hands in her hair tossing her to the floor as she fought, but to no avail. She could feel her legs being forced apart, she could feel the weight of what she now realized was a demon on her, and a hardness entered her.

  When the demon was done with her, she was lifted again and dangled limply by her hair. Despite the pain that racked her body, she looked into the demon’s eyes and immediately got lost in the flames that seemed to dance within the blackish orbs.

  With a sneer, the demon tossed her through the glass door of the shower, causing her head to bounce off the tile. The water scalded her as she lost consciousness. The deep lacerations on her face and body seeped blood that flowed lazily down the drain.

  ~~~

  Sandy awoke in what she could only guess was a hospital room. She sat on the edge of the bed noticing that her clothing was made of a paper-like material. She hurt from head-to-toe from the cuts and impacts she had suffered. But the most painful was the burning sensation between her legs and her belly. She lurched to the door to find the room locked, everything came rushing back to her; the demon, her attack, the pain, and Abby. Sandy’s mind broke and she started to scream.

  ~~~

  Sandy was shackled and now, sitting in the institution’s staff psychiatrist office.

  “Sandy, I have some hard questions for you, but I have to ask them,” the old doctor asked, seeming somewhat disinterested. “Why did you kill your baby, Sandy?”

  “I didn’t kill my baby!” she screamed, breaking into sobs. “It was a demon, look at what it did to me!”

  “I’m sorry Sandy, but that’s not what the police say that the evidence shows. Sandy, can you tell me how far along in your pregnancy you are?”

  “I’m not pregnant!” she screamed, trying to get up, but the shackles restrained her. “I didn’t kill my baby! You’re lying! Bring me my baby!”

  Sandy flailed about trying to get away from this nightmare.

  At a nod from the psychiatrist, orderlies carried her out of the office and back to her room, where she would be placed in four point restraints on the bed.

  She wept bitterly as the door slammed behind the orderlies. Deep down she knew the searing burn of her insides could only be a monster within her, and when it was done, the flames would sear her soul.

  Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

  Jack Turner's unit climbed into the rear hatches on the Stryker armored vehicles they used to deploy to various hot spots throughout the province. The last three months the unit had spent most of its time in Kandahar proper, a sprawling city of a little over a half a million people.

  Jack sat daydreaming of the units return to American soil as their tour was coming to an end. The latest word from command was two more months and they would fly out.

  I can't wait to get home and see Sandy and meet Abby, he absently thought, no longer mindful of the sweltering heat, bone jarring ride, and the constant static and squelch of the radios that accompanied life in the assault vehicles.

  The rest of his team were all lost in their own thoughts as he was. They had pretty much been on the move for over twenty-four hours, having left the secure zone around 2am the night before to patrol a neighborhood suspected of being a terrorist stronghold.

  After a night and day of door kicking, the men were tired, hungry, miserable, but thankful that they had all made it through another patrol. Some days they weren't so lucky and it weighed heavily on all of them.

  Jack was looking forward to a shower, dinner, and sleep. Tomorrow was another day closer to seeing Sandy and Abby.

  The thought of his wife and child flooded him with feelings of love and longing. He struggled with the thought that Abby was three months old already, and he had yet to hold her. Ev
en though he had never laid eyes on her, he loved her already.

  The column rolled through the gate into the secure zone, the men could finally relax as much as anyone in a war zone. They dismounted and headed into the makeshift barracks, dumping off gear and stowing weapons near their bunks.

  The grunts and groans of the tired troops filled the dusty building. Many of them collapsing on their cots still dressed in their dirty BDUs and boots, too exhausted to undress.

  Jack sat on the bed almost too tired to think. He was tempted to follow suit and just crash but he wasn’t ready, and tomorrow was supposed to be a day of rest, so he was in no real hurry.

  He headed to the showers hoping to wash what felt like a week’s worth of dust from his tired body. He spent a few extra minutes in the hot water enjoying the rejuvenating spray, feeling his muscles relax a bit.

  He dressed and headed to the mess hall. Hopefully, it’ll be something good tonight, he thought to himself.

  As he made his way back out into the oppressive heat toward the dining hall: "Jack, hold up!"

  Jack turned around to see Father Gomez walking up to him.

  As a fellow Catholic, Jack went to mass as often as he could and had developed a friendship with the other young man.

  "Hello padre!" Not liking the look on his friend’s face.

  "Jack, I need you to come with me to the Commander’s office, buddy. "

  "Is something wrong? Come on, just tell me."

  "Jack, please just come with me," the young priest begged.

  "OK padre, but you're scaring me," He said, turning to follow him to the base commander’s office.

  ~~~

  Colonel Andrew Perry sat behind his desk in the base Command Center. Outside his door, the command staff were busy with the countless communications from Central Command and the Pentagon.

  It was a message received about one of his men that had Perry in turmoil. Delivering bad news was part of the job, but this? This was the kind of news a man might never recover from.

  He looked up at the knock.

  "Sir, I've got Sgt. Turner with me," Father Gomez announced.

  "Come in," he responded, wishing he were out on patrol instead of dealing with this.

  "Sir?" Jack asked, standing at attention before the desk.

  "At ease, Turner. Take a seat."

  Jack sat, wondering what the secret was.

  "Look Jack, there's been an incident back home."

  "Are Sandy and Abby OK?" Jack questioned, standing again.

  "Sit down Jack! Look, there's no easy way for me to break this to you so let me just tell you. Your wife has been confined to a mental hospital."

  "What the hell for sir? The last time we spoke she seemed fine and I haven’t seen anything crazy in her emails! Who is watching Abby?"

  Father Gomez spoke up. "Jack, Sandy killed Abby. That’s why she is in the hospital. As of right now, it looks like once they determine she is competent, they will try her for murder. I'm sorry buddy."

  "What? NO, there is no way that Sandy killed Abby! This is crazy! She loves Abby; all she ever wanted to do was be a mom." Jack sobbed as the horrible realization hit him. How could this be?

  "Jack, I’m sorry. Go pack your stuff, you're going home." Colonel Perry dismissed him with a nod to Father Gomez, who gently guided the stunned and heartbroken Jack Turner out of the makeshift office.

  ~~~

  Three hours later, Jack was on a plane on his way home. Home to what, he questioned in his mind. He would never get to meet his daughter; his only view would be of her lifeless body.

  The thing he wrestled with the most was Sandy. How could she do this? These were not the actions of the woman that he had married; the former Sunday school teacher had won his heart with her bubbly and sweet personality. It just seemed impossible to him that she of all people could do this to their child.

  He was thankful that the C-130 transport plane was mostly empty of personnel; the giant cargo area was filled with hummers and crates on pallets that filled the cavernous belly of the plane.

  ~~~

  Sandy lay on her bed; the locked room was stuffy and hot in the summer heat. Her scrubs were sticking to her skin as she lay on top of the blankets. She wished they would crank up the air conditioning, but they never did. She would have loved to shower, and strip down and lay there in an attempt to cool off, but showers were scarce since they were only allowed to shower three times a week.

  Truth was, the shower scared her. Sandy wasn't sure if she would ever be able to comfortably shower again.

  She could feel the monster inside her move; it had only been a week and she could already feel her belly swell. What the hell happened that day? What had happened to Abby? She had asked for details but no one would answer her, only giving her a look of contempt.

  She had told the truth and it had cost her what little credibility she had in the situation. She had been forced to have an ultrasound and the baby appeared normal to the tech, but Sandy knew the truth.

  How do you tell someone that something attacked you that couldn't see, and impregnated you without ending up exactly where she was, in the psych ward?

  And then there was Jack. How could she face him accusing her of murdering their daughter? How was Jack doing with all this? She wished she could hold him tight and never let go, but that seemed to be nothing more than a dream now.

  She wondered what he thought of her. How he was coping?

  She had cried herself dry, it seemed. She missed Abby terribly and her arms ached to hold her baby again, but it would never happen. She had come to accept it, and it hurt like hell.

  So now she was faced with the dilemma of what to do about her situation. If she recanted her story and admitted to killing Abby, even though she knew she was innocent, they may let her out of here. But what if they tried her for murder then? It was Texas, for God sake; they have an express lane for the death penalty. She certainly didn’t want to die over something she didn’t do.

  Well maybe that wasn’t quite right; she did want to die, just not that way. Without Abby and Jack, she really didn’t have anything to live for. She knew one thing for sure, she didn’t want this monster inside her to be born. If she had her way it wouldn’t, even if it meant that she had to kill herself to stop it from being born.

  As she lay there, she could feel herself start to drift off. She was starting to cool off. In fact, she was suddenly starting to get a little cold. It was a welcome relief in the small cell-like room she spent most of her day locked into.

  Suddenly a slamming door yanked her back to alertness. The same whistling, the same Pop Goes the Weasel tune, and footsteps where coming for her again, just like at the house the day she and Abby were attacked. She flew from the bed, screaming, and pounding on the door, desperate that someone anyone would come and save her.

  The whistling and footsteps got louder and louder until she thought her head would burst from the volume.

  Couldn't anyone else hear it? Why didn't someone come and check on her? Surely, they could hear not only her but the whistling and footsteps that were echoing throughout the locked unit she was on.

  The footsteps and whistling stopped in front of her door. For once, she was thankful for the heavy steel door that kept her from freedom; now hoping it would keep the demon away from her.

  She pressed her ear against the door, frantically trying to hear if the demon lurked on the other side, or had been thwarted by the steel that stood between them. She could hear nothing but her own ragged breathing.

  She stood back from the door with a sigh of relief. Maybe it had been a dream and she was more asleep than she thought she was. Or maybe it had left.

  She turned to return to her bed and ran into something solid. An invisible, unseen hand grabbed her by the hair, and flung her onto the bed. She could feel hands roam over her body as the weight pinned her to the mattress.

  Her scrubs were torn from her leaving her nude again before the monster that had taken her ag
ainst her will.

  Once again, she could feel it enter her. Her screams would last for hours, but there, in the mental hospital, no one noticed.

  ~~~

  The funeral was over. Jack sat quietly in the house that he had shared with Sandy and Abby. It seemed strange to him to be there without Sandy. He'd never experienced the joy of knowing Abby so it wasn't as odd to him that she wasn’t there, as long as he didn’t dwell on the fact that she had died right there in the house.

  It was depressing to Jack to be there. He sat there in his recliner that he had only sat in a few times—as they had bought it a couple of days before his deployment. He was contemplating going to a hotel, so he wouldn’t have to be reminded so much of how messed up life was, when the doorbell rang. He wasn't surprised that someone would come and check on him; it was a close-knit family here on the base, with no one knowing if their loved ones would be coming back from the war or not.

  He got up, wondering whom it might be. While he wasn't surprised that someone was checking on him, it was kind of late. He opened the door to see Sasha Miller. Her husband had been killed early in their deployment but they had settled into the Fort Hood area and bought a house off base. She had a great job, so she stayed, as all her friends were still on the base and in the area.

  She was a tall and curvy brunette; Jack had always thought her attractive but was happily in love with Sandy, who was somewhat Sasha's opposite. Sandy was much shorter, not quite as curvy but ample with naturally blonde hair. Both beautiful women Jack thought as he took Sasha in, feeling guilty.

  "Sasha, how nice to see you." Jack said, just now noticing the card board box in her hand full of the little white boxes that Chinese food comes in.

  "Jack, I hope you don't mind me stopping in like this, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to you today at the funeral,” Sasha said, almost a little embarrassed. “I thought you might be hungry, and while my situation is obviously different, pain is pain. I thought you might like to talk; even if it’s not about the situation, I'm here."