My sister lets out a moan. Savannah turns to look at her. When she turns back to me, her expression has changed.
“I thought he was going to kill her,” I say. It doesn’t feel freeing to tell the truth. It doesn’t feel good. Savannah’s going to leave anyway and now she’s going to hate me. “He was hitting her and hitting her,” I say. That’s the truth, but I’m telling it to make myself look like less of a monster. I want to believe that I am not a monster. My sister moans again, covers her ears. “I thought he had hurt you, too,” I say. Did I really think that? Or did I only think it afterward, when it was too late to change what I’d done?
Savannah has gone pale. It looks like there are tears hovering right at the edges of her eyes.
“No,” she says.
“We killed him,” I say. “He’s dead.”
I’ve killed two men. It doesn’t matter if Margaret pulled the trigger. If my sister tore through the skin with her teeth. It was my fault both times. I’m a monster. Evil gets into everything I touch.
Mama was right. She was right.
“Is this true?” Savannah says, her voice quavering. She’s not asking me, not looking at me. She’s asking Lee.
Lee, miserable, nods. Savannah’s turning back to me, but I don’t want to see the horror in her eyes. Don’t want to hear what she has to say.
So like my sister has done a hundred times before, when she doesn’t want to face me, doesn’t want to deal with the consequences, I turn and run.
* * *
—
I run mad, run scared, run the rage and terror out of my bones, run until my bones ache, keep running.
The ground is slick with mud. Dead leaves. I can feel muck splattering up onto the back of my legs. I slide down the first big incline I reach, fall into a puddle at the bottom. Get up, keep running. Uphill now, and then flat. Down, up, like flying, like sailing, skimming over the surface of the earth, the wind rushing through my hair, slapping my wet skin.
I hit another incline and my foot goes skidding out from under me. The world is spinning, too quick, and I roll and tumble off rocks and hit with a crunch and a snap of breaking sticks.
The lie I told made true.
The side of my face is pressed into the dirt. Into the mud. There’s mud in my nose, some in my mouth. I can smell the wet-earth scent.
I spit, cough. I can’t see, can’t breathe. I flop over onto my back. At least I didn’t break my neck.
The horizon is tilted. From down here the landscape is different. The trees could be mountains, each mound of dead leaves a hill.
I ache all over, but my right leg is worse than the rest of it put together. Sharp pain from the knee down. I deserve this.
I don’t even try to get up. My feet are higher than my head. But you’re supposed to elevate an injured leg, right? So it works out.
That makes me laugh. A laugh that catches. Turns strange, hysterical. Turns into sobbing.
I cry until it hurts, until I can’t breathe. I gasp and sputter and spit.
I stare up at the sky. Think of Mama, floating.
What did she think about before she died?
Did she think of me? She must have, sometimes. Right? Even if she thought that evil had gotten me. It wasn’t her fault she was insane. But it wasn’t fair to my sister, I think. To raise her that way.
I guess I’m the lucky one.
I don’t want to be like Mama. Not Jolene, but Jo. I don’t want to be like the pastor, either, or Logan. Or the devil. Whoever my daddy was. No monster, no shadow. I want to be myself. I want to be something new.
Rising up out of the dirt like a twisted flower.
I probably won’t get the chance now.
It was dark to begin with, after the storm, and it only gets darker. I don’t know how long it took my sister and me to get water. How long it took to drag the body to the road. How long it took to get back. But it must have been a long time. The sun is going down. My legs are growing colder. At least that numbs the pain.
I don’t know how far I ran from camp. Don’t know if the others will be able to find me. If they would even want to.
I close my eyes. Maybe I’ll freeze to death. I hear that’s peaceful. You get warm and then you just sleep. When I open my eyes, I’m crying again.
Mama didn’t want me. Mama was crazy. Maybe I’m crazy, too.
It doesn’t matter.
I’ll die in my underwear in the dirt in the dark.
I laugh aloud into the nothingness. I cry. I try to move. A spasm of pain in my leg. I howl. Shove my hands over my ears, squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to face this, don’t want to face anything ever again.
I want it to be over.
I pretend I’m floating. On a dark and empty ocean. My head feels weird anyway. I can hear the orchestra of the forest at night starting up. Insects thrumming. Something hooting. Squirrels rustling the leaves.
Louder rustling. Very close.
A bright light shines on my face, the black behind my eyelids blazing red.
I blink my eyes open. My sister is standing over me. She’s holding Savannah’s phone, shining it in my face.
Since when does Lee use a light?
“Jo,” she whispers, “you dead?”
She’s got on Savannah’s jacket, but unzipped, with nothing underneath it. The hood is pulled up, though, and the fur lining makes it look like a bear is eating her head. She turns and flashes the light at the trees, waving it back and forth.
I close my eyes.
“Jo,” she says again, shaking me.
Leave me alone, I try to say, but my voice is too hoarse from all the crying and laughing, so nothing comes out but a croak.
I open my eyes. Lee is staring down at me. I try to speak again, but I can’t.
“Sisters,” Lee says. “Sisters should help.”
She stands up. Messes with the phone. The light of the screen hitting her face from below gives her a nightmarish look. It was smart of her, I realize, to steal the phone from Savannah. Otherwise Savannah might have called the police. Turned us in.
Savannah.
I left the two of them alone.
Is Savannah okay? Did Lee hurt her?
I can forgive Lee what she tried to do to Henry. I might have forgiven her even if he died. That probably makes me a bad person, but it’s true. My sister is almost a part of me. She is in my blood, part of my heart.
But not Savannah. I couldn’t forgive that. If she hurt Savannah. Or did more than that. If she—I couldn’t. It would kill me, I think.
Savannah is part of my heart, too.
I try to move, but all my limbs are stiff from lying in the dirt for so long. My legs have both gone to sleep. Pins and needles add to the pain, a vicious cramp stabs through my side. My head spins.
Lee steps away from me. I manage a slight strangled cry, roll over enough that I can watch her.
She stops a few feet away. Holds the phone up in the air, looks at it. Pokes at the screen.
And then I see the strangest thing. So strange I’m sure I must be crazy. Sure I must be dying. My sister, my wild sister, holds the phone to her ear.
“Hello,” she says into it, pauses as if listening. “Hello. Yes. Please help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Savannah reaches us not long after, alive and well, carrying some of the plastic bags. My relief is too tangled with confusion, with a new fear. I feel like I’m swimming through the dark.
Savannah looks down at me, meets my eyes for a moment, but doesn’t say anything. She takes the phone from my sister, who has been holding it this whole time, not saying much other than yes and no and okay. Savannah takes the phone and speaks into it.
“Sorry,” she says, and “Are you going to tell anyone?” and “West Virginia,” and “a junkya
rd.”
“No,” I manage to croak. They will lock us up and they will kill us.
“Okay, I know this part is going to sound insane,” I hear Savannah say, “but can you stop at a Walmart real quick first?”
Lee kneels beside me.
“Don’t die,” she says, “please.” And I can’t hear what Savannah is saying into the phone. Something about Cincinnati?
I push myself up, try to nod, but it makes stars explode in front of my eyes and I lie back down in the mud.
“Thank you,” says Savannah. “We’ll be there.”
And then she’s kneeling beside me.
“Did you hit your head?” she asks. She shines the phone light in my eyes. I blink away from it. I feel dizzy, but I don’t remember hitting my head. I think maybe all the blood just rushed to it.
She and Lee help me up to a sitting position. My head spins and spins.
“Can you walk?” asks Savannah.
She shines the light down at my right leg. There’s a long gash from the knee to the ankle. The blood’s dried and crusted. There’s some gravel embedded in my knee. No wonder it hurt. But the cut isn’t deep. And nothing looks swollen.
The two of them drag me to my feet. I notice that Lee is using both her arms, though she still favors the right. Both of us are pretty banged up, but surviving. My legs feel shaky and weak. Putting weight on my right leg sends pain shooting up my shin because of the cut, but I’m not a broken-legged lamb, at least. Not entirely. I don’t think my ankle is even sprained.
“Come on,” Savannah says. She puts one arm around my back so I can lean some of my weight on her. My sister mirrors her on my other side. We hobble forward, an awkward three-headed beast.
I thought I would die. Thought I’d never see either of them again. Thought they wouldn’t want to see me.
“Don’t you hate me?” I whisper. I would hate me. I do hate me.
“No,” says Savannah.
I stumble, grit my teeth against the pain in my leg. The cut has reopened. I can feel fresh blood trickling down my shin.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The junkyard,” says Savannah. I’m too tired to protest. I am ready to give up. To sleep, even if it’s in a cell. “The tent?”
“I’ve got it,” says Savannah, shaking the Walmart bags slung over her other arm.
“Who were you—”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Savannah, cutting me off, “it will be okay.”
“Okay,” echoes my sister.
It was the police, though, right? She called the police. Or whoever she called will call them. They’ll be waiting for us. For me.
I understand. I deserve it. I’m thankful, even. For a way out. Even with all my planning, this was never going to work. We were never going to make it out here. I see that now.
I’m ready to face the other world, face whatever is coming to me.
I just don’t understand why Lee is going along with it. At the last moment, maybe, she’ll push me forward and run. I wouldn’t blame her.
We stumble along, the three of us. I keep thinking I’ll fall, but they catch me. My head feels thick and heavy, my limbs shaky. I don’t think I could run if I tried, but I don’t want to.
I’m not my sister. Not Mama. Just myself.
The moon peeks out from behind the lingering clouds. I recognize one of my signs, a stick propped against a tree. I hadn’t meant to run in the direction of the junkyard, but I guess I did, unconsciously. Came much nearer to it than I realized.
I try to pull away, frightened despite myself, but Savannah tightens her grip on my arm to stop me.
“Come on, Jo,” she says softly, “we need help.”
We’re circling down, drawing closer. I can see glints of rusted metal through the trees.
There are no sirens. No flashing lights. Not yet.
We pause at the edge of the tree line. There’s a rusted blue car parked halfway into the underbrush, a sapling twisting up through the empty place where the front windshield used to be.
“Let’s wait here,” says Savannah. She helps me onto the hood of the car, jumps up to sit beside me. Lee sits on my other side. Savannah puts her arm around my shoulders. Maybe it’s just so I won’t try to get away, but I’m comforted by it nonetheless. I lean against her.
The junkyard looks dark, abandoned. I can see Jack’s car where we left it. I don’t see movement. Don’t see anyone.
Headlights come sweeping down the road and I brace myself, but the car drives past. Now that we’ve stopped moving I’m cold again. I rub my bare legs to bring the feeling back. The fresh blood on my shin has dried again.
I don’t know what we’re waiting for. Don’t know who. I’m afraid to ask. I hurt all over. The minutes stretch. Savannah pulls out her phone, looks at it, angling the screen so I can’t see. Lee picks flakes of rust off the hood of the car, arranges them on her knee like fish scales.
Headlights again. They swerve this time, bump up over the edge of the road. A pickup truck. Pulling in to the junkyard.
“Don’t be mad,” says Savannah quickly. “She called me.”
I shiver, suddenly afraid.
Margaret. The last person I want to see right now. Who else could it be?
“She called,” Savannah goes on. “When I was with…when I was away. There’s service closer to the road. She left a message. Said she knew I was probably with you. Said to tell you she was sorry and that she was coming to look for you, alone. Said to please call her back. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You were so angry already.”
The truck stops in the middle of the junkyard. The driver door opens, and someone gets out. I crane my neck, but the truck is between us.
“Sister,” says Lee.
And the person walks around the truck and I see.
Not Margaret. Aggie.
With all that’s happened, something as small as this shouldn’t shock me. But it does. All her life, Aggie has never once gone more than twenty minutes outside of Lester. Never once driven me to an away track meet, or to the Target in Delphi. But here she is.
She’s wearing one of her plaid shirts. Jeans. She’s looking around. She can’t see us yet. We’re too far away, shadowed by the trees.
“I knew we needed help,” says Savannah, her tone urgent. “I told Lee, told her how Aggie would help us. Said we needed to call her. Don’t be mad.”
I meet Savannah’s eyes. She doesn’t hate me. She really doesn’t. This time is different. This time I told her the truth. This time she’s on my side.
I should speak, tell her I’m not mad. Tell her that I’m so thankful, that I love her and I always will.
“Do you forgive me?” asks Savannah.
All I can do is nod. Any more and I’ll start crying. I lean forward, wrap my arms around her, hiding my eyes against her shoulder. Savannah hugs me back, tight.
“I called,” says Lee, from behind me. I can’t read her tone, but when I turn to look at her she hops off the hood of the car, standing straight and tall. I think maybe she’s proud. She steps forward, out of the trees, into the open.
Savannah takes my hand and we follow. Aggie still doesn’t see us. She’s turned away, squinting at the woods in the other direction. The three of us make our way quietly through the rows of cars.
We’re only about twenty feet away, nothing but empty space between us, when a twig snaps under Savannah’s foot and Aggie spins around. Lee freezes. Aggie’s face lights up the moment she sees us. I don’t see anger, just relief. Exhaustion. She doesn’t run toward us. Doesn’t move at all.
“Hello,” says Aggie quietly, looking at my sister with a soft, sad expression. “I’m Aggie.”
“Yes,” says Lee. I reach for her hand, squeeze it gently.
“Jo,” Aggie says, turning to me.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve come to take us back,” I say.
“No.” Aggie shakes her head. “I’m leaving. For good.” There are tears in her eyes. “I already left. I was heading this way. I’d heard someone might have seen you near the state border. So I packed everything up and left to come find you. I’m so glad I did. I was only about forty minutes away when I got your call.”
That she would come this far to get me was already a small miracle. But it blows my mind all over again that she chose to leave Lester even before she knew where to find me. She said she packed everything up. Left for good. There’s no way.
“What about the bar?” I say. “And Margaret? And the pastor?”
A flicker of anger crosses her face. “The way he lied about—” But then she stops, shakes her head, takes a deep breath. “A lot happened while you were gone. There were some things that were the last straw. Maybe I’d let too many straws go by already. Anyway, there’s nothing left for me back there. Nothing I wouldn’t rather leave behind.” She shrugs. “I’m sorry for not believing you. I really am, Jo. Will you give me a second chance?”
I nod, because it feels, once again, like I couldn’t speak without crying. I don’t know if I deserve this. “Oh, wait,” says Aggie, suddenly brightening. She turns and opens the door of her truck. Pulls something out. Holds it in front her.
A dress.
A truly ridiculous dress. Rose pink. Sequined bodice, big poufy chiffon skirt. An attached sash with a fabric flower. It’s clearly not meant for anybody older than twelve or so.
“Is this okay?” Aggie asks Savannah.
Savannah laughs beside me. “I think so.”
My sister has already let go of my hand to reach for it, despite herself, eyes sparkling.
“It’s for you,” Aggie says to her.
Lee looks over at Savannah, uncertain, then at me.
“It’s okay, Lee,” I say. “She won’t hurt you.”
I think that’s probably true.
Lee runs forward and snatches the dress with her good arm, a little rudely. Aggie doesn’t even jump. Years of bar fights have given her nerves of steel. Lee scuttles back to a safe distance, admiring the sequins. She shucks off Savannah’s jacket, pulls on the new dress. She’s so skinny that it fits her fine, though she doesn’t bother to zip it up. She spins happily, watching the skirt float up around her.
Some Kind of Animal Page 33
