Cesspool (8 page)

He hiked along the rocky path, wondering when he would run into Brittany.
She’s quick. She’ll probably beat me to the halfway point
. He glanced up at the clouds and picked up his pace.

A few trailers and cabins were visible from the trail. He counted each house, trying to remember how many were between his cabin and the single-wide trailer.
I have to be over halfway there at this point. Maybe she got a late start. Maybe she thought it was going to rain
. He thought about turning around.
But what if I turned around and she was coming down the trail? She’d walk all the way to my house and get soaked in the process
. He continued, quickening his pace, a sense of urgency coursing through him.

I have to be close to the trailer. Maybe I already passed it. You can’t see all the houses from the trail
. He looked up at the clouds. They were closing in on the last remaining bits of blue.
Five more minutes and I’m turning around. What are you doing anyway? I don’t know. She needs a friend. … Maybe I do too
.

Between the hardwoods, he saw the back corner of the vinyl-sided trailer.
I think that’s it. What now? You can hurry your ass home, so you don’t get soaked. She probably figured you were smart enough not to go outside when a storm’s coming
. He heard glass shatter. His stomach turned.
Shit
. He heard a thud, followed by a high-pitched yelp. He broke into a sprint, crashing through the brush and briars. He ran around the trailer to the front door. A man was yelling.

“Get your fuckin’ dumb ass over here.”

James banged on the door. The house went quiet, except for the Lamisil commercial on the television. There were hushed voices and soft steps. The blinds parted for a moment. James banged on the door again. Harold yanked it open. He stood, his arms crossed, guarding the threshold. The middle-aged man was thin and short, with a full head of hair and a salt-and-pepper beard to match. His skin was pale, with blotchy red chafing under his eyes and over his eyebrows.

“What the hell you want?” he asked. His teeth were yellow, one missing from the bottom row. He smelled like cigarettes.

“I can hear what you’re doing,” James replied, his jaw set tight.

“You best get the fuck off my property before I get my shotgun.”

“Brittany,” James called out. “Are you okay?”

Harold’s eyes were wide. “You been talkin’ to my girl?” He stepped out of the doorway and poked James in the chest with a bony finger.

James backed up. “Don’t touch me.”

Brittany appeared at the doorway behind Harold. Her lip was split, her eye black. Bruising was evident on her neck. She looked like a little girl in loose pajamas.

“Go on home before you get yaself hurt,” Harold said.

James pushed past the scrawny man toward Brittany. “Are you okay?” James asked.

She nodded, her head down.

Harold stepped in front and pushed her inside. She hit the wall behind her and fell in a heap. She pulled her legs to her chest, tucking her chin, and covering her head with her arms. Harold tried to slam the front door, but James stuck his foot inside, forced his way in, and stood between Harold and Brittany.

“You’re not going touch her anymore,” James said.

Harold punched James in the jaw with a weak right cross. James was stunned by the blow but uninjured. He shoved the little man, and Harold stumbled backward, falling on the soiled carpet. He scurried to his feet, and James pushed him back down.

He pointed at Harold. “Don’t fucking move.”

Harold gritted his teeth, but he stayed on the floor.

James turned to Brittany, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”

She grabbed his hand, and they left the trailer.

Harold yelled from the front door. “You ain’t gettin’ your stuff, you little whore. You best be watchin’ your back.”

Brittany hiked with James along the trail in her dirty slippers. She glanced back, her brow furrowed. James pulled her forward. Once they were a safe distance from the trailer, James stopped and inspected her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked. One eye was black and swollen, partially shut. Her lower lip was split, blood trickled to her chin. Her neck was covered in bluish-black bruises.

“I have to go back,” she said. “It’s gonna be really bad if I don’t.”

“Do you want to go back?”

She shook her hanging head. “But I have to. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“We’ll figure it out. Let’s get to my cabin, so we can get you cleaned up, and I can make some calls.” He glanced up at the sky. “It’s about to pour.”

They entered his cabin. He sat her down at the kitchen table, cleaned her lip, and gave her some ice for her eye.

“I’m calling the police,” he said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

She put down the ice, recoiling, her eyes wide. “No, please don’t.” She shook her head. “It won’t do no good.”

“What he did to you is assault. All you have to do is tell the police what’s happening, and they can make it stop.”

“They won’t. He’s—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t sit by and do nothing anymore.” James dialed 9-1-1.

Brittany sat in silence, icing her eye. James paced, looking out the windows, waiting for the police. He glanced at the clock on his phone.
Jesus Christ, it’s been twenty minutes. Where the hell are they?
James took the melted ice, and Brittany laid down on the love seat. He gave her a flannel comforter. She covered up and closed her eyes. An hour later, a single police car crept up the driveway. Officer Dale Strickland stepped out of the cruiser. James met him on the porch before he had a chance to knock. He wore dark shades and moved as if he was out for an autumn stroll.

He lifted his chin to James. “Are you James Fisher?”

“Yes. We met before.”

“And you witnessed an assault?” He didn’t acknowledge that they had met.

“Yes.”

James told the officer what he had seen and heard.

“And the complainant is here, in your custody?” Officer Strickland asked.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t consider her in my custody. She’s here of her own free will.”

The officer smirked. James opened the door. “Brittany, we’re coming in.”

She sat up on the love seat. Officer Strickland marched through the door and turned to James. “I’d like to interview her
alone
,” he said.

James waited outside as Officer Strickland talked to Brittany. James peered through the window. Her head was down as the officer spoke. After five minutes of what appeared to be a one-sided conversation, the officer departed the cabin.

“Are you going to arrest him?” James asked Officer Strickland.

One side of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin. A few raindrops pelted his shirt. “You gotta have a complainin’ victim. And you didn’t actually see him hit her, did you?”

James scowled. “I saw him push her pretty hard.”

“It ain’t enough.”

The rain began in earnest. The officer jogged to his cruiser. Thunder cracked in the distance. James entered the cabin, the downpour pounding the roof. Brittany sat on the love seat, her knees pulled to her chest, her head down. She was more shell-shocked now than before she spoke to the officer.

“Are you okay?” James asked.

She was silent.

“Brittany, are you all right?”

She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Why’d you have to do that? I told you it wasn’t goin’ do no good.”

“What did he say?” James grabbed a wooden chair, positioned it in front of the love seat, and sat down.

She clenched her fists. “He told me to keep my mouth shut. What’d you think he was gonna say?”

“I thought he would arrest Harold.”

She laughed, a few tears spilling from her eyes. “You think he’s gonna arrest his uncle?”

“What?”

“Harold’s always braggin’ that I can’t never call the cops ’cause his brother’s the police chief and his nephew’s a cop too.” She shook her head. “He was right.”

James exhaled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were related.”

“I tried to tell you,” she said.

“You’re right. I should have listened to you.” He looked her in the eyes. “You tell me what you want to do. I can take you anywhere you want to go. Do you have any family who you’d like to stay with?”

She burst into tears. “I can’t go back there. Please don’t make me.” She threw her arms around him, pressing her braless pajama top against him. “I’ll do anything you want.”

He pulled back, uncoupling himself from her. She put her head down and sobbed. He lifted her chin.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Do you have any friends you could stay with?”

She shook her head. “Can I stay with you? Just for a little while. I won’t be no trouble. I’ll cook and clean—”

“Okay.”

Her sobbing subsided.

“Brittany, listen to me. This is important. You don’t have to do anything for me. I’m your friend, and I’ll help you out, because I want to. No strings. Do you understand?”

She nodded her head. “Thank you.” She looked down at her soiled pajamas. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“It’s fine. We can get you what you need.”

“I’ll pay you back. Every penny, plus interest if you want.”

James shook his head. “We’ll call it payment for your gardening and foraging consultations.”

She smiled, her nose and eyes red.

“This has to be temporary, okay?” he said. “Until you can get a job and get your own place.”

“I ain’t never had a job.”

James took a deep breath. “We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I should cancel my class tonight, and run by Walmart to get you some clothes and toiletries.”

Her eyes were wide. “Can I go with you?”

* * *

James slept in the bottom bunk.

He heard “No, don’t. No, please stop.”

His eyes popped open to a dark face in the window, the features indistinguishable. His heart pounded as he scrambled back, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes. The window was dark.
I’m losing it.

Again he heard “No, don’t. Stop.”

He rolled out of the bunk and turned on the floor lamp. Brittany tossed and turned in the top bunk.

“I said no,” she said. “Please don’t.”

James edged closer. “Brittany, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

“Please don’t.”

He grabbed her arm.

She pulled away from his touch, curling in the fetal position. “No! No!”

“Brittany, wake up!”

Her eyes popped open. Her face was taut.

“It’s me, James. You were having a bad dream.”

She relaxed at the sight of him. “Oh, … I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“I think I was having a bad dream too. Do you want some tea?”

“Okay.”

James put water in the teakettle and turned on the electric stove top. He sat down at the kitchen table, across from Brittany. She wore brand new flannel pajamas.

“We could prob’ly find some mushrooms tomorrow.” She stared out the window into the darkness. “After the rain.”

“You okay?” he asked.

She tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “I don’t usually remember ’em.”

“The nightmares?”

She nodded. “I just wake up stressed. The ones I remember make me glad that I don’t.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Do you wanna talk about yours?”

“I don’t remember them either.”

“Can I ask you something?”

James chuckled.

She frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“I used to say that to my wife before I asked her something important, and she would get mad at me and tell me to just ask the question. She said that she didn’t like it when I prefaced things.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. She was wrong. It’s polite to ask.”

Brittany took a deep breath. “How come you’re here all by yourself? Don’t you have friends and family who wanna see you? People like Harold, live up here all by themselves ’cause nobody likes ’em.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Lori was my wife’s name.”

Brittany nodded, her blue eyes on him.

“I wasn’t the best husband, and she went elsewhere. The day she died, I found out she was having an affair with her boss.”

Brittany put her hand over her mouth.

“I called her a lying, f-ing bitch. That was the last thing I said to her. They had been drinking. Her boss wrecked his car, killing her and him in the process. They ran into a telephone pole.” James rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Anyway, we had friends, but our friends were really her friends, and, when she died, I realized they weren’t my friends at all.”

“What about your mom and dad? Brothers or sisters?”

“They’re gone, and I’m an only child.”

“I’m sorry.” She sucked in her plump lower lip and pushed it out.

The teakettle whistled. James stood up and turned off the stove. “Is chamomile okay?” James held up a small box of herbal tea. “It doesn’t have caffeine.”

“I never had that kind. I only ever had Lipton.”

“You’re in for a treat then.”

James placed the tea bags in two teacups and poured the hot water. He set the cups on the table with a plastic bear full of honey.

“We should let them steep for a couple minutes.”

“Were they nice, your parents?”

James sighed. “Very nice. My mom would have loved you. She was into nature like you. My dad was stuffier, like me.”

She giggled. “You’re not
too
stuffy.”

“My turn. What do
you
want to do? You’re young, talented. You could do anything.”

She tapped her lips with her index finger. “Anything?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I wanna have a family of my own.” She paused. “And a job that helps people.”

“Have you thought about college?”

Her mouth turned down. “Don’t you have to finish high school?”

He winced. “When did you drop out?”

“Halfway through my junior year. I had to leave. That’s when I came here, and Harold found me.” She looked down. “I wasn’t that good at school anyway.”

“Look at me, Brittany.”

She looked up.

“What you want—a family and a job helping people—that’s not a pie-in-the-sky dream. That’s very possible. We just need to get you moving in the right direction.”