The One That Got Away

by Joe Clifford

  A member of the team tried to steady her, but she ripped away, shrieking at being touched.

  The kid stepped back. “It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.”

  The college boys circled Jackie, who backed up to the truck, hands still held high. One of the college kids arched over, palming Jackie’s head like it were a melon, and smashed it against the truck frame. There was a loud, sickening crack. Jackie bellowed, falling at Alex’s feet, whimpering. When he gazed up, a giant purple knot blossomed around his eye, instantly sealing it shut. On the other side of the truck, fists connected to bone. Alex didn’t see Rick. But she heard his cries.

  Six or seven college kids closed ranks around the two men and began punching, kicking, stomping, beating the ever-living shit out of the two would-be rapists, who writhed and squirmed in the mud like eels snagged on the fishing line. She wanted to speak up, thank them for saving her, say she was sorry for talking so much shit, that she didn’t mean it. Don’t hurt them too bad, hurt them worse. Instead she turned and ran to her car. Someone shouted something about calling the cops. Alex didn’t answer. She kept running.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Alex hovered between worlds, neither in this one nor the next; she was in both places at once, equally discomforting. She experienced fleeting moments of being cognizant, lucidity shattering the dreamscape, at least long enough to answer the calls from the other side, say she was fine, no problem, leave her alone, everything good. But she was unable to get out of bed and face the music, or in this case her cousin, no matter how many times Linda screamed her name.

  As Alex lay wrapped in the blanket, part of her recognized someone was outside the spare bedroom door, jiggling the handle, pounding, kicking the base. Or it could’ve been part of the same bad dream. Maybe she imagined the fight in the next room where her cousin was shouting, “That’s why I didn’t want her here!” and Tommy saying, “She’s family.” And if she dreamt that, then maybe she’d made up the other parts too.

  Alex could still see the inside of that asshole’s truck, feel his hands on her, pressing down, holding her hostage, the numbness from the drugs, the resignation that it was happening again, payback for having escaped the first time, the Universe conspiring to return damages owed. She saw Parsons. Felt another presence looming in the shadows at the lake house, another set of eyes clocking her, tracking movements like a predator in the wild. She saw Benny Brudzienski, slumped in his chair at the hospital, only this time when their eyes met, he smiled, thin lips parting to reveal rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth.

  Alex wasn’t sure how long she’d been in Tommy and Linda’s spare room, curled up with the door locked. Might’ve been a few hours or a few days. She must’ve left the room to pee at some point but didn’t remember doing so. She didn’t want to turn on her phone and find out how much time she’d lost. Felt like she’d seen the light and the dark trade places more than once. One thing was for sure: that wasn’t Molly she’d snorted, not unless it was Molly cut with benzos and Seconal, ketamine. Maybe she should’ve stuck around to call the cops, file a report about what happened. But what had happened? She’d put herself in a stupid situation. Again. She was high on drugs. That’s all anyone would care about. She’d gone with him willingly, like the first time.

  Dragging herself from bed, Alex pulled up her hoodie and cracked the door. It was dark, cold. Rain pinged off the roof and windowpanes. She peered into the kitchen, having no idea what she’d find. A troupe of mimes on roller skates wouldn’t have surprised her at that point. The clock on the microwave read 2:07 a.m. Her insides gnawed with hunger.

  On the kitchen table, a newspaper, ringed with coffee stains, read Saturday. She filled a defective paper cup with tap water at the sink and drained it. Then another. And one more. Alex pulled her cell and confirmed the date. Two days and four missed calls from a blocked number.

  She felt someone watching her and turned to find Tommy standing in ratty long johns bulging at the gut.

  He opened the fridge and extracted a plate of chicken leftovers, carrots, and potatoes, placing it in the microwave. “Sit.”

  “Can I smoke in here?” Watching raindrops roll down the pane, she could feel the cold penetrating. She needed a cigarette but couldn’t fathom stepping outside in that.

  Tommy looked over his shoulder, toward the closed bedroom door, then walked around the table, slid up the window, frigid gusts swishing in. He placed a small fan on the sill and switched it on, blowing the cold air back out.

  Alex smelled the ends of her hair. They reeked of vomit. Tommy waited for the microwave to finish. Then slid the plate in front of her as he sat, cautious and slow, like he was feeding a junkyard dog.

  “Jesus, Tommy. I’m not dangerous.” Even after a couple days of recovery, her face still felt swollen, sore, like a few teeth had dislodged up in her cheek. It hurt to talk.

  “Your cousin wanted to bust down the door. Almost called fire and rescue.” He pointed out front. “You left your car in the middle of the street.”

  Alex started to get up.

  Tommy gestured to stay put. “Already took care of it. You left your keys on the counter.” He pointed at the plate. “Eat.”

  Alex dug in, smoking in between big bites, needing both, the food and nicotine, desperately. Every time her mouth moved, a searing pain, like an electric shock, radiated from the nerves in her jaw.

  “Want to tell me what happened to your face?”

  Alex didn’t answer, consumed by the hard rain pelting glass.

  “Finish that and go back to sleep.” Tommy placed his big hands on the table.

  “Did you know her?”

  “Who?”

  “Kira.”

  “Didn’t we talk about this coming back from Galloway?”

  “I’d like to talk some more.”

  Tommy rubbed a meaty palm over his bleary eyes and sat back down. He reached for her cigarettes. “Mine are in the other room. More like knew of. Told you. She had a reputation.”

  “How about her friends?”

  “She was younger than us, so, no, I didn’t know them. Not really.” He stopped. “I mean, I know some of their names. Meaghan Crouse works at the CVS, I think. Patty Hass used to wait tables at the Waffle House. I don’t know if she does anymore. I haven’t seen her around in a while. I think she dated Sharn DiDonna.”

  “I keep hearing that name. Who’s he?”

  “An asshole. Graduated same year. One of those rich kids who parties poor in between summers in Newport. I know he was doing Kira for a while too. If I remember right, they had a bad break up.”

  “He still in town?”

  Tommy shook his head. “Went back to live with his father in Bethlehem after Kira went missing.”

  “How about Cole Denning?”

  “Handyman at the Idlewild? Got Benny’s old job. About the only job a guy like him gets.”

  “Guy like him?”

  “Old drunk. Why do you care about this so much?”

  Alex stared out the window. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she spied a birdhouse. In the trees, next apartment over. The homemade popsicle kind a small kid makes with his dad. It rocked in the boughs as the midnight winds howled.

  “Alex?”

  “Remember after Parsons, there was that rumor he had a partner? Someone helping him?”

  “But that wasn’t true. He confessed. Said he acted alone.”

  “He did. But for a long time I’d look into every stranger’s eyes. On the subway. The bus. The supermarket. Study them, wonder, what if it was true? What if someone was coming for me someday? I remember the look in Parsons’ eyes. But only after the fact. Years later. At the time I blocked it out. And then, like a heavy curtain lifted, I could see them, clear as day. What was there. Or what wasn’t there. Something lacking, a basic…I don’t know…humanity.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “When I was at the hospital the other day, I looked in
Benny’s eyes. He looked at me funny.”

  “Funny?”

  “Like he was trying to convey something.” Alex caught herself. “I know. It’s crazy. Guy can’t move. Practically brain dead. He’s giving me secret messages. But I can’t get that look out of my head, Tommy. Parsons was a killer. He was a bad man. When I looked in Benny’s eyes the other day at the hospital, I didn’t see a bad man. I didn’t see a killer. What if he—”

  “What?”

  “Is a man like Benny Brudzienski really capable of pulling off a murder and cover-up? You remember him walking through town. Did he seem violent to you? If someone put him up to it—”

  “You don’t know that’s what happened.”

  “That’s what you said.”

  “Rumors, Alex. People say stuff. Can’t prove any of it. Doesn’t matter if anyone egged him on. Benny still killed her. They found his blood, his DNA. I’m sorry. The guy’s guilty. And I know what you went through was horrible, but what Benny did to Kira Shanks doesn’t have anything to do with you. You need to find a way to move on, leave it behind.”

  “They’re trying to send him to Jacob’s Island. He’ll die there. They’ll kill him.”

  “Benny? He’s an invalid, right? They have a special place for guys like that. What do you think they’re going to do? Roll him into the prison yard every morning?” Tommy stood and pointed at the plate. “Finish eating and go back to bed. Morning ain’t gonna be pretty. You gave your cousin a lot of ammo this time.”

  Alex ground out her smoke on the plate and poked around the dead bird scrapings.

  Tommy stopped, picked up something off the counter. “This came for you yesterday.” He handed Alex an envelope.

  Then Tommy, never the most affectionate guy, leaned down, wrapping her in a big bear hug, holding her snug and close.

  She wished he never let her go.

  BENNY BRUDZIENSKI

  We have been spending more time together but no one can know. People would not understand because of what I am. It is our secret.

  Kira read a book to me today, on the hill under a tree. I do not remember the name of the book, and I do not know who wrote it. I missed a lot of the words. She reads to me often. I have a hard time following the story because my brain does not work in the right order. But I like listening to the sound of her voice.

  Mrs. Shuman told my father I could not come back to work at the motel after I left without permission to walk Kira home. When I went back for my bicycle, Mrs. Shuman had already called my father, and he was waiting for me. He was not happy. He asked where I had gone. I did not point or draw my stupid pictures. I did not try to stutter a response. I could not explain that I had to make sure she was safe. You cannot let a girl walk alone in this town. Not long ago, a man started stealing girls, doing bad things to them. When he was done, he buried them in his backyard. I do not understand why a man would want to destroy something beautiful. Kira is the one good thing I have. Besides, Mrs. Shuman has Cole. He can do the same things I do.

  Kira meets me at the football field on afternoons before the game. She waits until Mr. Supinski leaves for the day, when she knows he will not come back and we can be alone. She tells me things. I am safe. I do not judge. There is no one to tell.

  Before Dad and Mom knew my head could not be fixed, they brought me to church. They are Catholic. I guess I am too. We do not go to St. Paul’s anymore. I think they are mad at God for making me this way. I am not mad. God gave me a purpose. God does not make mistakes.

  This one time I found Dad’s magazines in the closet. There were pictures of women without clothes. Mom found me looking at the pictures. Dad was very angry. They brought me to see Father Mark. You are supposed to go into the booth by yourself but I could not get the words out, and it was too dark to draw pictures, and there was no pencils or paper. Dad came with me. He did not say the magazines were his. I did not understand why everyone was so upset. I did not see anything wrong with the pictures. Everyone seemed happy in them.

  When we got home Wren sneaked me in his room and showed me a movie on his computer. It was like the pictures in the magazines but different. No one seemed to be having fun in the movie. They were hurting the woman. Wren thought it was funny. I am not dumb. Movies are not real, but I did not understand why anyone would do those things or laugh at them. They seemed mean and cruel and wrong. Wren said, “What’s the matter, Benny? This is what men and women do when they love each other.” It did not look like love to me.

  We sit under the bleachers, Kira and me. The sun is a tiny yellow dot. It is about to set. Kira tells me to put my head in her lap, and she pets me like I am her dog. I close my eyes, and dream of bigger places far from this one. I imagine shooting stars and lights in the sky, like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

  Kira tells me about her old school and how much she misses her old friends. She shows me photographs. She says new schools are scary. “You wouldn’t understand, Benny.” But I do understand. I know what it is like to feel alone and be an outsider. I open my mouth to try and get the words out but they do not come like last time. Kira says, “It’s okay, Benny, you don’t have to say anything.” She looks in my eyes, and I stare back. Even if I cannot say the words I feel in my brain, I want her to see there is a man inside this busted body, and he has a heart and a soul, he has feelings and believes in things, too. I ache for one person to see it, for her to see it, because if Kira cannot see it, what chance do I stand? And then she pets my head and strokes my hair. The wind rips through the valley and we both disappear for a while.

  I know I do not mean the same thing to her that she means to me. I am not Dan or Wren or any other whole person. Kira is never running away with me. We are not living in a house with a white fence and babies of our own. I understand that it takes money to buy a house and pay for food. I am not stupid.

  She tells me about the men she loves but who do not love her back, who take what they need from her but do not give back. I get so angry thinking of the way people hurt each other. When she tells me these stories, of the things she lets men do to her, I want to tell her she is worth so much more. I do not understand why she cannot see that.

  I wish we could stay this way forever. I can protect her, keep her safe. If she will let me. No matter how fast winter comes. We can stay warm under these bleachers together. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep…

  When I awake, it is later, and I am alone. I do not know how I got here, why it is so cold, why I cannot move. I do not know these men who squawk like chickens when it rains. I do not know these people in white coats who feed me pills and mashed bland meals. I stare out of the window at the big black birds. I do not know why those big black birds do not fly away. The whole sky is open. They can go anywhere they want. But they just sit on those power lines. They do not even try.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Get the fuck out of my house!”

  Her cousin came at her from across the kitchen floor, a battering ram two-fisting empty bourbon bottles. Alex closed the door and turned the tumbler. Let Linda rain down blows and tire herself out.

  Alex didn’t recall going to bed after Tommy gave her a much-needed hug and Noah Lee’s check, one thousand dollars that would be worth less than the paper it was printed on if Riley made good on his threat. Having stumbled out in the middle of the night like she had, Alex couldn’t be sure if what followed had been another dream. She knew she’d taken a shower, washing her hair in the dark, ringing her damp tee and panties, draping them over the radiator, because she’d found the shirt and panties overcooking when she went to the bathroom this morning. Her face looked better, the swelling down. The discolored, yellowed bruises were easy to cover with concealer. Not that she had much time for makeup. She’d barely been able to arrange thoughts and put them in a cogent order when her cousin’s shrill voice cut through the stillness, along with the heavy foot kicking the bottom of the door, ordering her out.

  Alex got dressed i
n the same dirty jeans she’d been wearing since she got to town, sliding the hot crinkly tee over her head. She’d used the new white shirt she wore at dinner with Riley to mop up blood from the fight, tossing it from the speeding car somewhere along Route 17. She waited for the hammering to subside.

  Her cousin was hunched over, mouth breathing. She had on an oversized men’s In Between Evolution sweatshirt, a souvenir from a show they’d seen together at the Grapevine ten years ago, thick thighs poking out, mottled with cellulite, grim expression contorting her pug face. Tommy and Nick each took a side, trying to calm her down.

  Alex stepped from the room with her things and Linda started toward her again. Alex met her head on, and her cousin backed up, still shrieking and swiping, but from behind the safety of Tommy.

  When you grow up as close as they had, you can’t erase histories, especially ones where the younger, prettier cousin kicked the crap of her hapless older one. Alex didn’t remember what started that particular fight, only that it involved their mothers. It was summertime, the day hot, air weighted with ragweed and humidity. They had been walking through a vacant lot overgrown with high grass and abandoned appliances. Someone said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Something inside Alex snapped, and she took out years of frustration and hate, anger and loneliness, thrashing her cousin so viciously Linda needed sutures to stitch together part of her jaw.

  Their relationship had endured worse fractures over the years, but in times like this, where someone wanted to thump her chest and talk smack, the knowledge of that beat-down served as friendly reminder to back the fuck off.

  “Get out of my house! Bitch!”

  Alex didn’t say a word as she zipped her bomber. She caught Tommy’s eye, conveyed appreciation, then pulled Nick along with a head tilt.