One Bloody Thing After Another (8 page)

“Are you sure she doesn't need a doctor?” Ms. Garcia asks the security guard again. He shrugs his shoulders, which isn't an answer at all.

“I have to go do my rounds,” he says, after a few more minutes. “I'll be back.”

“We'll hold our breath,” Ms. Garcia says, and then he's gone. It's just the two of them now, sitting in the office and waiting. The other students and teachers are all gone. She's very beautiful.

“You're very beautiful,” Jackie says. It could be the sort of thing that a scared girl says, when she sees another woman being strong. But it isn't, not the way Jackie says it. She says it very clearly, and very simply, and Ms. Garcia's face flushes with surprise. She doesn't answer, and she turns away to check her phone, but not before Jackie sees the smile.

Then Jackie's father is in the doorway. He wraps his arms around Jackie and kisses her on the top of her head.

On the way home, her father doesn't say anything for a long time. When they get home, he comes around to open the door.

“I was going to take us out to a movie tonight,” he says. “If you're still up for it.”

“I'm not in trouble?” Jackie says.

“What good would it do?” he says. He shakes his head. He's not smiling, and she can't tell whether he's angry or not. “You are your mother's daughter, Jackie.”

She loves him for saying that.

Jackie stands under the department store's enormous sign. She remembered the name, even though her aunt only said it one time on the telephone to someone else. This is the department store where Jackie's mother worked. Whenever she goes to her broken-arm tree or any of her trees, she thinks about this department store.

There's a mother and daughter here, too. They are standing outside one of the big picture windows, looking in at the elaborate display. The little girl has a fancy scarf wrapped around her neck with little pink pom-poms dangling down from the ends.

“How do they make them fly?” the little girl says. She swings around to look at her mom, and the pom-poms whip through the air. Her mom points up at something in the window.

“They use wires,” the mom tells her. “Look, you can see them.” Jackie looks, too, and there they are, little wires ruining the illusion. The little girl has her face pushed up against the window now, straining to see. She's up on her tiptoes.

“Oh,” says the little girl. She sounds disappointed.

“No they don't,” Jackie says. “It's magic, how they fly like that. It's a miracle.”

“But I can see the wires,” the little girl says. Her mother doesn't say anything, she just stares at Jackie. “Look, you can see the wires,” the girl says.

“Those are puppet strings,” Jackie says.

“Puppet strings?”

“Yeah. There are people who live up in the ceiling there. That's all they do all day, is make those mannequins dance and fly.”

“What do they eat?” she says. Her mother is already pulling her away.

“They eat children,” Jackie says, and the little girl gasps. She puts the scarf over her face in little pink horror. Then she's being pulled away. Mom to the rescue. The little girl looks back at Jackie, and Jackie gives her a small wave.

“I'm here to visit my dead mom!” Jackie yells after them.

All night Ann hears her down there, screaming and thrashing. Margaret needs to be fed again. The little black kitten doesn't like those sounds at all, and he burrows under Ann's arms. Margaret needs to be fed. But Ann can't do it tonight. Tomorrow night. Margaret'll be screaming and crying and she'll start to use words again. This is what always happens.

She'll say, “Ann,” in the middle of some string of random words. That will be too much. And Ann will be right back out there, finding her little sister something to eat. But not tonight. Tonight she sits with the kitten in her lap, and she tries to remember the words to old songs while Margaret screams. When she falls asleep, she dreams that she can remember all the words perfectly.

Ann wakes up with the kitten pushing his cold little snout into her neck.

“Oh, hello,” she says. “Good morning, Jackie.” She feeds him in the kitchen, and makes herself some breakfast. She sets him and his dish on the kitchen table, and sits in her usual seat. It's good to have someone to eat with.

“Slow down,” she tells him.

Downstairs, she pulls open the door, so she can watch Margaret sleep, and the air inside is cold. Too cold. The window is open, and Ann feels this rush of excitement. Maybe her sister got out. Maybe it's over.

But Margaret hasn't escaped. She's right there, on the floor, curled up in their mother's arms. Their mother's face is twisted and bloody, and there's fur on the floor from whatever they ate last night. It's a mess of blood and bone and strips of flesh. And they're sleeping peacefully, wrapped around one another. They look so calm and quiet.

Ann doesn't know what to do. She could chain her mother up now. But then what? Then she's taking care of two of them. It's hard enough finding food for Margaret. Their mother is bigger. She needs more food. And when will it end? How long will she have to go on hunting for them?

While Ann watches, Margaret nuzzles her torn, jagged face into their mother contentedly, and makes a sound almost like a cat purring. Something inside Ann flips like a switch.

She takes the kitten upstairs, and she opens the front door and sets him outside.

“You should go,” she tells him, and he just sits there. “Go,” she says again. But it's not her problem. She closes the door. He'll leave eventually. And if he doesn't, well, he's small enough that he might go unnoticed.

Ann goes back downstairs, into her sister's room. She unlocks Margaret's chains while her sister and her mother sleeping. The window is still open, and when night falls, there'll be nothing keeping anyone locked inside. They look peaceful. Ann doesn't know why she's so angry. Fear?

She kicks her sister in the ribs.

“Hey Margaret,” she says.

She kicks her again, and the eyes open.

“Hungry?” Ann says.

The display windows of the department store are amazing, but so is the rest of the building. There are big rock gargoyles up high, looking down at everyone like they're food. The stone front of the building is carved into whirls and waves and spirals. It's so smooth and round, Jackie wants to put her ear against it and hear the ocean. There's a man in a bright red uniform with shiny buttons; he's right inside the front door and he wants to know how he can help.

“Can you direct me to ladies' gloves, fine sir?” Jackie says. He smiles and steps away from the wall. He pulls open the second inside door with a clean, white-gloved hand, and there is a rush of sweet-smelling air from inside. He bows. Jackie curtsies. It's all very civilized.

“First floor, miss,” he says. “Just through here.” Big double doors and then six red-carpeted steps leading up into the department store. The ceiling plays quiet piano music. This is the soundtrack to her mother's old life. Or maybe they had actual piano music, a man in a tuxedo, playing gently all day long. In Jackie's head, her mother lived in a golden age.

And she can't help it: she imagines that she is her mother, walking to work. She's thinking her thoughts.

“Oh, I hate coming here,” Jackie's mother thinks. “Work work work, selling ladies' gloves to rich old women. At least I have a beautiful daughter at home. Oh so pretty. She could use a gift. Today I will buy her something beautiful. Today I will quit smoking.”

The gloves are on display in long glass cases. They're beautiful, but Jackie does not care to look at them. She likes the weird wallpaper pattern here. The brown colors they use. It looks ancient, but elegant. She likes the low-hanging light fixtures. She doesn't like the woman behind the counter, though. The woman behind the counter has long teeth.

“Did you know Patricia?” Jackie asks, and nobody answers her. “She used to work here.” She steps forward, pretends to trip, and she slams a fist into glass. It doesn't break, and pain shoots up her arm. Before she thinks about what she's doing, she slams the fist into the case again. Again and again.

This isn't what Jackie had in mind when she decided to come here today.

She pounds the case as hard as she can with her fist. Then someone has their arms around Jackie from behind, pulling her back from the case that won't break. The woman behind the counter has her hand over her mouth in shock. Someone, old and strong beside her, walks Jackie back toward the entrance.

“I don't normally . . .” Jackie says.

“You don't normally what?” the stranger asks. She has a quiet voice, and Jackie is afraid to look directly at her. She feels certain that it's her mother walking beside her, older now, old and wrinkled and at the end of a long life. That's not a normal thing to worry about, and so Jackie is worried about having that worry, too.

Two girls walk by in school jackets.

“Oh my god!” one of them says, and she stops right in front of Jackie and the stranger. She's younger than Jackie. She's got thick, dark eyebrows. She's so pretty. If Jackie asked her, she'd probably be her friend. They'd have so much fun, talking about all the boys who like her. “Does that hurt?” she says.

“Does what hurt?” Jackie looks her right in the eye.

“Your hand,” the girl says. She reaches out for it, but Jackie pushes past her. The strange old lady still has her arm linked with Jackie's.

“It's changing color,” the girl says. “I think you need to see a doctor.”

You know who would be really good teammates in a fight? Jackie and Ann. There's no way you could take them both out. They would be the ultimate fighting team. The odds of both being unconscious at the same time are very slim. The odds of you knocking one of them unconscious and surviving the ensuing berserker rage of the other? Perhaps even more slim.

“Are you okay?” the old woman asks. Jackie stops and looks at her, finally. This old lady cannot possibly be her mother. “Are you listening? You should go to a hospital. Can I call your parents? Do they know where you are?” She won't stop talking. Jackie pulls her arm away and stumbles out into the road. The woman is back there, still talking. Jackie spins around to say something, and for a second it really does look like her mother.

“Mom?” Jackie says. The world around her flickers when she says the word.

A car hits Jackie.

Glass shatters.

Mrs. Hubert won't be calling her
dear
again anytime soon. Jackie's Sunday best gave her the wrong impression. She thought Jackie was one of those proper young ladies from her church, but Jackie is one of those proper young ladies you see on the
tv
news at night.

Smash!

Now there are two big rocks in the car. There's broken glass everywhere.
Smash!
Jackie loves that sound. All her arm hair is standing up. Her mouth tastes like blood. When you open the cat food can and the cat jumps right up from whatever it was doing, that's how breaking glass sounds to Jackie. Perfect. Amazing.

Jackie leans in through the window of Mrs. Hubert's car and brushes the glass off the passenger seat rock with her good hand. She pulls the seat belt across and fastens it securely. This is nice. It paints a pretty picture. Out for a Sunday drive with the windows down. Mister and Missus Rock. Lovely.

There are no tree limbs scattered in the backyard. The grass is green and freshly mowed, but the tree branches are gone. There are no trees at all in the backyard. There are holes where each tree used to be. Jackie feels like she's going crazy. They were there just a minute ago. There were trees there. They were there when Jackie put that first rock through the window.

Jackie pounded on her door and Mrs. Hubert said, “It opens up the backyard, don't you think?” And now the trees are all just gone. There are holes in the backyard. There are no trees.

“Where did the trees go?” Jackie yells at her, but Mrs. Hubert's talking on the phone. She doesn't hear. She just keeps repeating herself: police, police, police. In the backyard, Jackie looks around. The branches of the first-kiss tree are gone. They were right there. Is she nuts? The holes look collapsed. This makes no sense.

Jackie meant to leave before the police arrive, but they're early. The police car pulls into the driveway.

“That's embarrassing,” Jackie says when the two cops climb out of their cruiser. “You both wore the same outfit again today.”

to

“Is this my one phone call?” Jackie says to the cop. “Like on
TV
, right?” Nobody's listening. They're all rushing in and out of the room, or talking into their telephones. Something keeps beeping in the room. “What's happening?” Jackie says. “What's going on?”

“Something about trees,” the cop tells her. “We don't know what.”

Jackie gets her one phone call in a small room with a few desks and more police on their phones. They all have their hands on their foreheads, and their brows are furrowed. The man next to Jackie is chewing his stapler.

“It isn't terrorists,” frowning cop #
1
says into the phone. “There's no reason to believe that it's terrorists.”

“No, ma'am, it isn't terrorists,” frowning cop #
2
says into her phone. She sighs.

The cop who led Jackie in here says, “Press nine.” All of the lights are flashing on the phone. Jackie presses nine. Then she dials Ann's number. Ann answers on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Look out your window,” Jackie says. “Are there any trees in your yard?”

“I can't hang out anymore,” Ann says.

They want to take Jackie's fingerprints next. Nope.

She tells the cop that she has to go to the bathroom. She uses her little girl voice.

She still doesn't want to say her magic word.

The cop pounds on the door again, and turns the knob.

The door starts to swing inward.

“Mom,” Jackie says, under her breath.

She is a computer shutting down.

Door number one, no Jackie.

Door number two, no Jackie.

Door number three . . .

While the police run around the building trying to find her, Jackie sits down on the floor next to her mother, and she rubs her back through the gown. Jackie's mother doesn't look up from the toilet.

her,

In her bedroom the map of her trees takes up half of the wall. There are green pins stuck into the map, one for each of the trees. Jackie finds the pin for
10
Osborne Street and pulls it out. She drops the green pin back in the box and fishes out a black one. It's the first black pin on the map.

She reaches up and pulls out another of the green pins, the broken-arm tree. She pushes a black pin into the map in its place.

She replaces each and every green pin with a black pin.

I

Ann is over to do homework.

At Jackie's building, they race up the stairs together to the apartment. Jackie's father says it's okay, so Ann calls her mom to see if she can stay over. Ann's mother has red hair and she says, “Oh of course, darling.”

In bed the two girls look up at the ceiling and Ann tells Jackie that a boy called her and asked her to a movie. She sounds excited, and Jackie sits up and smiles.

“That's great!” she says. They hug, and Jackie doesn't let go. She puts her hand on Ann's shoulder and she kisses her. She puts her mouth on Ann's and Ann kisses back.

“Let's spend the night up on the roof,” Ann says. There is a bit of blood on her chin from their kiss. “We can launch paper airplanes out into the street. There are no more trees. All of this paper has got to be worth a fortune,” she says. “It'll be like burning hundred dollar bills.”

While she folds paper airplanes with sheets from her notebook, Jackie sits on the bed. Ann is so careful, making every fold perfect. Jackie loves the way she bites her lip to concentrate. She wonders if Ann makes that face when she's getting dressed.

“I love you,” Jackie says, and Ann laughs happily.

“We have these old newspapers, too,” Ann says. “We could make a piñata.” The shirt she's wearing is tight, and you can see the shape of her breasts, the shape of her stomach, the small curve of her back. Jackie reaches out a hand to touch Ann's stomach under her shirt, and Ann smiles and goes right back to what she's doing.

Outside on the roof, they can taste smoke and fire in the air. The neighbors are standing on their rooftops, too, looking up. The whole city is up on the rooftops. In the sky, there's some sort of eclipse happening. Ann is shielding her eyes and smiling. The two girls lay out blankets and pillows on the roof and they drink tall glasses of ice water. Ms. Garcia is there. She's on her back in a bikini, and she keeps looking over and smiling at Jackie. Ann doesn't notice.

“Don't worry yourself about it,” she tells Jackie. “We've all got to go sometime.”

“Should we be doing everything we ever wanted?” Jackie says.

“Sure, if you think it'll do any good,” Ms. Garcia says.

She rolls over onto her front and undoes her bikini top. The roller coaster rides down bright, white hallways. Walruses crowd around Jackie.

“Have you ever seen anything like that?” Ann says, pointing up.

“It's not an eclipse,” someone on the next roof is yelling. “The radio says it's some sort of meteor.” But Jackie rolls her eyes. Whatever. The radio thinks everything is a meteor. It's as bad as the
tv
. But she has this feeling in the pit of her stomach, like the world is giving way beneath them.

“I think this is it,” Ann says. “I think this is the end of the world.”

“Oh,” Jackie says. “I wish we had longer.”

“That kiss wasn't so bad,” Ann says.

But there is no meteor. Everyone is looking up, like there is, but Jackie can feel eyes behind her. There is something behind the door of the stairwell onto the roof. Everyone is staring up at the sky, but there's something behind the door. Jackie can't open it. She can see the blue light around the edges but she knows it is not her mother.

would

Jackie reaches into the
suv
and pulls the seat belt down around the passenger seat rock.

“I'm calling the police!” Mrs. Hubert is shrieking. There are no trees. The ground is torn up, and there are holes everywhere. Jackie looks up in the sky for a meteor, but there's nothing.

Jackie meant to leave before the police arrive.

They're early.

She makes a joke. They handcuff her. Mrs. Hubert looks genuinely concerned.

They all ride downtown.

Etc.

be

The roller coaster creaks under their weight while it pulls them slowly up. There's a chain underneath. You can hear it clicking.
Click click click.
Jackie would feel better if they had built this structure out of metal. The wood is creaking all around them. People are seriously injured on these things every year, but they keep them running anyway.

“If we die,” Jackie says to Ms. Garcia, “they'll probably close down for a week. Tops.”

“What do you care?” Ms. Garcia says. “You'll be dirt.” But she smiles at Jackie with her quiet smile. Her hair is moving calmly in the wind up here. Jackie doesn't know how she can be so calm. Down below you can hear the attendants laughing about something. Jackie can still smell their cigarette smoke. They don't care what happens.

“I am going to torment and ravage these people so hard,” Jackie says.

“Of course you will, dear,” Ms. Garcia says. She pats Jackie on the arm, then her hand stays there.

This high up, they can see the closed sections of the fair. They can see the water, and the aquarium. There's a moment, right as they roll over the top, where Jackie feels free.

alive.

Ann and Jackie take the streetcar together.

They hold hands. Jackie pulls her friend close and licks her own lips just before they kiss. Ann doesn't kiss her back. Jackie pulls her tighter. She can't understand why Ann won't kiss her back. This feels right. It feels correct. Ann's arms are so hairy today.

A man and his dog are standing beside them, looking out the streetcar window. The dog smells familiar. Do all dogs smell the same? Like the ocean? It is growling at Ann.

“Huh,” the man says. “There's a meteor out there.” Jackie looks out the window, too, up past telephone wires and buildings, but she doesn't see it.

“What if someone catches us?” Ann says, as Jackie kisses her neck. Ann's skin is warm, and Jackie feels like she is going to come apart. She feels dizzy. The streetcar pulls to a stop. It can't stop here. There is something just outside the doors.

“I think this is happening again and again,” Jackie tells Ann. Ann is crouched down looking at the dog. She growls.

The doors open. They die.

If

The woman in the house is screaming at Jackie. Jackie sighs. Yeah, yeah, yeah. She puts the rock down and leaves before the police arrive. Mrs. Hubert is left standing by her window with the phone in her hand.

Jackie rides the streetcar, but she can't keep still. Her leg bounces. Her teeth chatter. She thinks about the way she'll touch Ann, the way Ann will touch her in return. She thinks about the smooth warmth of Ann's skin. She thinks about Ann's skin under her fingers, her fingers on Ann's lips. The streetcar stops right at Ann's house. These feel like memories already.

Ann opens the door. She's dressed in blue, and Jackie throws herself on her.

“Jackie?” Ann says.

Jackie kisses her surprised lips. The room darkens. Something. Oh god. In the door behind them. Something she let inside. Glass shatters.

They die.

I

They push through the front doors of the department store, and the doorman smiles. He's standing beside a crazy guy in a lab coat. A mad scientist with ash and soot all down his coat. They call the elevator for Jackie and Ann. When the doors open, the insides are all lightning and glass vials piled on the floor. It looks like the storage locker from an old horror movie. The two girls climb in and ride up toward the ladies' gloves section, up on the roof.

“Thanks for not trying to talk me out of this,” Jackie says.

“At least we're in a hospital,” Ann says. She laughs.

There's a young woman working with the ladies' gloves. She smiles when she sees Jackie. Her uniform is open, and underneath you can see the smooth skin of her breasts. You can see the black marker lines, where the doctors will cut to get at the cancer. Her nametag says Patricia.

Ann moves closer to the glass display case to distract the woman. Here's the plan: Ann stands near the case, blocking the woman's view of things; Jackie trips and falls into the case. She slams her hand down as hard as she can on the glass, breaking through. And, in case that doesn't cut her up enough, she grinds her hand on the shards that fall into the case itself. They want blood. You need blood for magic.

So Ann moves in front of the sales lady. Jackie steps forward, pretends to trip, and slams her fist into the glass. It doesn't break, though. Pain shoots up her arm, and before she can think about what she's doing, Jackie slams her fist into the case again. Again and again.

She's pounding on the case as hard as she can with her fist. Patricia is just watching calmly. Then Ann has her arms around Jackie from behind, pulling her away from the case that won't break. The woman behind the counter has taken her uniform off entirely now. She is Jackie's mother.

“Doesn't that hurt?” Jackie's mother says.

Jackie looks down at her hand, purple and swollen.

It hurts.

had

The two girls find payphones in the subway station underground. Ann has a notebook that they use, and Jackie dials with her good hand. The other hand is useless — swollen and broken and purple.

“Busy signal,” Jackie says, and Ann writes it down in the notebook.

“Nine nine nine seven,” Ann says, and she smiles. Jackie dials the number and listens as it rings and rings. A man answers.

“Hello,” Jackie says. “Have you got Prince Albert in a can?” She can hardly get the words out, she's laughing so hard. He hangs up, and Jackie tells Ann, “Another credit agency.” People are bustling past. The air down here echoes with the sounds of trains and voices. Kids yelling. A man playing the saxophone. A group of walruses beached on the very edge of the subway platform, pink and barking.