Beauty Kurtzwilde agreed. Men always had the wrong way of looking at a woman’s role in the world, hence giving Tempest the code name of Wrong Way. However, the downside of life always came back to bite you in ass, as her mother Delilah and Beauty often warned her.
“Baby,” Delilah Fateman had said, “I’m sending you off to college to get yourself a good husband and nice life. Get the degrees, then the man, a house, and two cars, and go to PTA meetings and join the Junior League. I want you to have all the things I didn’t. This is your chance.”
Tempest wasn’t Fancy. She wasn’t packing her bags and moving uptown. She packed her bags and got the fuck out of town to live life her own way. Ferdinand was a nice guy with a good heart, but she didn’t want to be a part of the PTA and bake cookies. Tempest had no desire to be known as Mrs. Muldrake for the rest of her life. She sure as hell didn’t plan to spend the rest of her days having vanilla sex under a man with a one stroke game. The horror in the whole scenario was that Ferdinand had been given the tools to plow a whole field, yet the man never dug deeper that the two-by-two plot in front of the door.
“Funny, I haven’t thought of Ferdinand in years,” Tempest said, feeling her way down the narrow corridor to the restroom. It had been ten years to be exact. Ten years she’d spent working for Beauty, living life on the road, banking all the money she made, and investing it conservatively, so when the day came to retire, she would be set up nicely.
Hearing Tempest fumbling in the bathroom, Mrs. Neary called out, asking if she needed help.
“No, I have it, thanks,” Tempest called back.
Truthfully, she had nothing. A small house in Athens. A car she never drove. A few tchotchkes of places she’d visited in between jobs, but mostly, she had an emptiness that no one would ever understand. They couldn’t. She didn’t understand herself.
Tomorrow, all the emotions she never cared to feel would arrive all at once, carrying luggage and baggage for days.
Chapter Nine – Haywire
The house buzzed with early morning activity as a non-compliant two-year-old refused to get dressed to go out the door. Tempest drank coffee from an uneven cup, no doubt made at the hands of Mrs. Neary, and listened to the morning fracas, unmoved by it all. The glitter in her hair was no more, but neither was the straight bob she was trademarked for wearing. On her head sat two frizzy ponytails poorly braided which is more than likely, the same reason the child was causing such an uproar.
“Hey, you almost ready?” Zeke Neary asked Tempest.
“As ready as I can be. Have you received a call or an address yet?”
“No, but I expect it pretty soon. I gassed up last night just in case it’s longer than an 8-hour drive. Do you have any idea where we might be going?”
Tempest lifted the cup to her mouth, sipping slowly while staring into darkness over the ridge of the uneven rim. “Honestly, I don’t know. I have worked this state, and live in it as well, so it could be anywhere. Mr. Neary, I’m kind of scared,” she said, almost shocked at her own words.
“I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve said since we met,” Zeke told her. “You have every right to be afraid. You work for some really messed up people. The job you do is also kind of...well, messed up too. I’m worried myself.”
“This does not make me feel good,” Tempest replied as tiny bare feet ran past her. She stuck out a hand, stopping the child as she ran past the second time, holding her in place until Tameka caught up and lifted Michelle into her arms. “The worst case scenario is that Beauty will terminate my employment. The best-case scenario, I won’t see the firing coming.”
“Is that an allegory or irony?”
“His name is Mr. Exit,” she said under her breath. “He’s not like Mr. Mann. This guy is harder than any man I’ve ever met in my life. Mr. Exit is like a date with vengeance. His targets are very personal. He’s not; just cold. Scary. Dead eyes and a heartbeat so slow, you can barely hear it if he were chest naked and your ear was laying over his heart. If the Grim Reaper and Ursula from Under the Sea had a baby, it would be Mr. Exit.”
“Well damn.”
“You can say that twice,” she said softly. “Most people don’t see him coming. If you do, it’s only because he wants you to die knowing your employer found out what you did in this world and a soul has suffered by your hand, and it’s time to pay the piper.”
“Dr. Fateman, has anyone suffered by your hand?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Some because I wanted the bastards to suffer, others because our time together had come to an end. I think the worst thing two people can do to each other is try to stick it out for the sake of the children or out of fear,” she told him.
“Fear?”
“There are all types of fear, Mr. Neary. The worst is staying in a place you’ve outgrown because the water is warm and getting out of the pool makes you uncomfortable. My mother was like that...she stayed in a job too long which took everything from her,” Tempest said. “The house she ran for years still sits there on the corner. My cousin runs it as a boarding house for men who can’t get on their feet. I pay the taxes each year, but after this, their luck may be over.”
“The house she ran...that sounded cryptic,” Zeke said, watching the beautiful face minus makeup and the once perfectly styled hair sticking up in two uneven braids.
“My mother ran a whorehouse in downtown Augusta in the area called the Bottom. She had a place off Broad Street, a three story Antebellum handed down through the years from my Grandmother who sold moonshine and fish dinners out the back door,” Tempest said, her hands playing with the cup.
“When my Grandmother got too old, and I was about ten, my mother started taking in young girls,” she went on to say. “They were all over sixteen or so, lost, runaways, and in need of some guidance. They turned to Ole Delilah who gave three hots and a cot, but they had to work for it. The real money was made on the second floor. If you had a room on that floor, you kept company. Everybody else stayed on the 3rd floor, cleaning, scrubbing, or cooking. Grandma, Mama, and me lived on the first floor.”
“Did you ever have to work on the second floor, Dr. Fateman?”
“No, I didn’t,” she said, pushing the cup forward. “My Uncle Carl, who was the bouncer for the place, made sure no man ever touched me.”
An odd sense of relief washed over Zeke. He didn’t know why he’d expected to hear a horror story from her about the childhood that had turned her into the cold, distant woman who sat across the table from him. She’d been hurt. That portion he could physically feel coming from her person, but there was more to the story. Zeke didn’t speak. He simply waited.
Tameka sat on the couch, holding the two-year-old, waiting as well for her to let down the guard rails so they could cross over into the world Tempest had been avoiding returning to in her head. If a grandfather clock rested in the old cabin, the sound of the pendulum swinging back and forth would add an element of awe to the room while they waited for the next words that came out slowly as if she’d chewed them into a fine paste before preparing to feed them to the baby chicks.
“Uncle Carl protected me from the men, but no one protected me from Uncle Carl,” she said. “I do credit him with my fine sense of fashion. He kept me decked out in the best clothes from Belk’s and Dillard’s. At 17, he even provided me with a credit card.”
Zeke saw the movement of his wife and held up his hand for her to remain still and to stay quiet.
“Also, by the age of 17, I had miscarried two of Uncle Carl’s children,” Tempest confessed. “He gave me a drink that tasted like pure vegetable oil, and it caused the fetus to detach itself from the womb and got flushed down the toilet. Just like that, an unwanted life, flushed out of my system like a lump of... poo.”
Tempest said the word “poo,” her head moving from side to side, listening for the sound of the child. Not hearing the infant, she allowed her nose to follow the scent of blueberry until it located Tameka in the room. She had men
tally scribbled the list Mrs. Neary suggested last night that she make. It seemed only fair to leave the imagery with them long after she’d left their world or the world in general. The bitch in her felt Mrs. Neary deserved it. She continued to speak.
“In my sophomore year of college, I killed Uncle Carl,” Tempest said and sipped a cup of coffee. “It was Thanksgiving, and I’d come home from college to see my mother. As always, he was excited to see me and planned to take me shopping per our usual interactions. The man actually believed we were in a relationship, which I ended that evening with a slice of my delicious sweet potato pie. The sweet potatoes mask the taste of arsenic, which I found out in a chemistry class.”
“You killed your Uncle?” Zeke said.
“He deserved to die. Right in my mother’s house, under her nose while she was upstairs spreading her legs for Tom, John, and a guy named Harry, her loving brother had been downstairs sticking his finger in me while he played with himself,” Tempest said. “I was dumb. I wanted pretty shoes and dresses so I didn’t feel like the Whore of Broad Street’s daughter. Turns out, my own uncle made me into his airheaded slut and from that point on, I refused to be any man’s trophy.”
Zeke rubbed his hands together, amazed at how dry they had become over the course of the past two years. His wife had purchased a tin of Bag Balm used on cow udders to help with the cracking, but the sound of the rough skin as his hands moved back and forth reminded him to add balm when he got to his feet. Tempest heard the sound as well.
“The sound of dry skin,” she said, appearing to look down at his hands. “Rami had dry skin like that, all over his body. Psoriasis, really bad, like a snake shedding. I joked with him in graduate school about leaving evidence all over a crime scene in the way of his flaking scales. He’s the one who came up with the idea for the cleaning business that I’ve run for ten years. He helped to perfect the solvents we used.”
“Is he a silent partner in the business?”
“No, I graduated college and moved on with my life, leaving him behind,” she said. “It was years later when I came back to the idea and went to work for The Company.”
Tameka wanted to know, “And your mother. Did you ever tell her what your Uncle did to you?”
“Funny thing, Mrs. Neary, my mother knew what he was doing to me and allowed him to continue, just to keep Carl in the house working for room and board,” Tempest said. “I was the payment for his services. He wasn’t allowed to bruise me, but she did tell him sodomy was okay until I was old enough to take his large size vaginally, which to me was the dumbest thing in the world. I was 17 when he took my virginity and had two pregnancies that same year.”
Zeke’s knuckles turned white from balling up his fist in anger. His breaths were sharp and reeked of disgust at her words. It was heartwarming that he cared, but she wanted out of here. If she were honest in the share, he would be more forthcoming about where he was taking her. If she played her cards right, he would be on the lookout for Mr. Exit and possibly protect her. If he weren’t married, she would have fucked him last night and stayed here until her vision returned.
Her luck had run out.
“Mr. Neary, save your anger. Protect your own child from the monsters of the world. I do my part to rid the world of as many as I can, where I can,” she said softly. “I have my own demons to face for my actions, and when death comes for me, I can stand tall and face my past with few, if any, regrets.”
“We all have regrets, Dr. Fateman,” Zeke said, looking out the window. “Some are easier to swallow than others. It’s the ones we don’t see in the pudding that choke us as we try to swallow.”
Before he could continue what he was saying, coordinates came in over his phone via text. No name. No city. No state. Just the coordinates.
“I have coordinates,” Zeke said. “Let’s ride.”
“Does it say where?” Tempest questioned.
“Nope, just follow the red dot until it stops,” Zeke said. “Looks like it’s going to be a long ride. Bathroom before we go, everybody. Cooler is filled with drinks and snacks so we don’t have to stop except to use the facilities. I want to be rolling in less than ten minutes, so move like you have a purpose.”
“Jeez, you are bossy,” Tempest commented.
“I get shit done,” Zeke countered. “Let’s get moving before the Sherriff comes up the mountain for coffee and blueberry muffins. You have a way with men, but you know that already. He got reeled in by your charms and may want to keep you. I’m not sure if he’s your type.”
“Yeah, I have that effect on men,” she said, touching the braids of her hair. “His vibe was all wrong, so yeah, none of that for me.”
IT WAS TEMPEST’S LUCKY day. She got to ride in the backseat of the SUV seated next to the two-year-old. Several times, Tempest checked her iWatch, unable to see the hour, but the set timer provided a small counting chime at the beginning of each hour. Before turning in for the night, she’d asked Mrs. Neary to enable the accessibility options on the watch for the visually impaired. Two hours had passed, and the child hadn’t spoken a word, thrown a tantrum, or attempted to engage with her parents. Tempest listened closely to see if the child had a tablet or an electronic device for entertainment, but heard nothing. It left her with the only conclusion that the poor little girl must have been special needs. Thus far, she hadn’t heard the child converse, only heard the tiny footsteps and her say ‘Hi’ when Tempest had first arrived. She also heard the request for a story.
“Daddy, I need to take a potty break,” Michelle said.
“Right now, in fifteen minutes, or can it wait to the next rest stop?”
“Now,” Michelle said. “Fifteen minutes from now it could be messy.”
Tempest turned her face to look at where she heard the very mature voice from such a small body. The child must have been looking back at her because she asked Tempest, “What?”
“Nothing. I just hadn’t heard you talk,” she said to the child.
“I talk,” Michelle said. “Do you want to talk to me?”
“Uhmm...well, ahh,” Tempest said.
“Yeah, I don’t want to talk to you either,” Michelle said, tapping her Mary Jane covered feet.
“I think my feelings are hurt,” Tempest said as the sound of the blinker clicked, and the car pulled into a rest stop.
“I can take Michelle into the family bathroom, or you can take Tempest and Michelle in there,” Zeke said.
“Honey, Dr. Fateman doesn’t like any of us enough to for me to go into the toilet with her. You take Michelle, and I will go into the big girl’s room with the lady,” Tameka said.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just the bathroom,” Tempest said.
Zeke cleared his throat and said, “Roadside rest stops for a woman with two good eyes is dangerous. For a woman with no vision, this becomes a death trap. Women traffic other women as well. I prefer to play it safe.”
“Appreciate it, but I can still defend myself in a closed in space,” Tempest boasted.
“I have four hours to go until we reach that red dot. I plan to reach it with no incidents, plus I have limited mobility in my left leg and right shoulder,” he said.
Tempest nodded, commenting, “I heard you dragging your leg. Is there a good story behind the injury?”
“My husband used to be the secret service agent for Renaissance. He was shot in the line of duty,” Tameka volunteered. “He also named our daughter after the first lady he served diligently for nearly eight years.”
“I thought her name was Lady Eagle or something similar,” Tempest said, opening the back door of the SUV.
“Eagle was Clinton. Evergreen was his wife,” Zeke said. “Let’s move.”
“Jeez, he’s really bossy,” Tempest said, holding onto the Tameka’s arm and making a speed dash to the bathroom. She didn’t need to go, but was afraid if she didn’t try, Johnny Drive Hard behind the wheel wasn’t going to make another stop for two more hours. Fast work was made o
f the stop, and she washed her hands before being led back to the vehicle. For safe measure, she started a conversation to ensure she held the correct person’s arm and wasn’t being led to a vehicle loaded with stolen women. The faint blueberry scent, ever present, brought a feeling a comfort as they chatted.
“We may have to stop and get you a red-tipped cane, so you can learn how to use it,” Tameka volunteered as she helped her inside the car.
“Maybe we should wait to see where I’m being taken first,” Tempest said, growing a tad bit anxious as the rear vehicle doors closed. “Mr. Neary, it doesn’t tell you anything?”
“No, and we’ve crossed into Tennessee as well,” Zeke countered. “Hopefully it won’t be much longer.”
Much longer lasted nearly four and a half hours. They munched on sandwiches and snacks and sang road songs, and Tempest discovered that every Neary in the vehicle was totally tone deaf. The two-year-old chewed like a small mouse nibbling on cheesy crackers, and by the top of the final hour, she didn’t care if they were dropping her off with Satan, she was ready to get the fuck out of that vehicle with the tone-deaf family from hell.
“Tempest, we’re almost here although I don’t know where here is,” Zeke said, taking a left from the interstate driving down a long stretch of road. A large farmhouse appeared over the crest, and chestnut horses ran across the fields.
“Can you describe it to me?” Tempest asked Tameka, leaning forward to touch her shoulder.
“I see horses,” Michelle volunteered.
“There is a large white farmhouse with a bright red door,” Tameka said as they got closer to the house. “A tall man, African American, has come outside on the porch. He’s about six feet with wide shoulders and maybe two hundred pounds. Clean cut. Handsome.”
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