Sweet Little Lies (4 page)

Billy Dean held the compressions. Closed his
eyes. Said a prayer. Wondered what Delay would think about dying
with egg on his face. And how they would explain the mangled body
of the woman, under the tarps, in the bed of the 250, to his
wife.

X

Demolition Magazine 2006; Nashville
Lifestyles 2008

I watched X tidy up the kitchen. The routine
was familiar, comforting in its mundane, expected way. Every night,
she cleans up before she goes to bed. Oh, we won’t even talk about
that.

I’ve been in that kitchen, of course. Smelled
the warm aroma of clean, seen the knives lined up like tin
soldiers. Each appliance in its place, each tool, each spoon, all
in perfect harmony in her kitchen. Spotless, sterile. Unlike her,
actually. X is warm, strong, caring, loving. I know this because…
well, I just know. Dammit, don’t doubt me. I just do.

She’s smiling now and the warmth passing
through my body is nearly uncontainable. It’s as if she’s looked me
straight in the eye, her smile an arrow through my heart… oh, I
see. X’s cat has jumped onto the counter, is flicking its tail
under her perfectly formed chin. She runs her hand along the
kitty’s back, purses her lips in a croon, then grabs her around the
middle and sweeps her onto the floor. Okay, so I know the cat is a
girl. Yes, I know her name. It’s Pumpkin, which, if truth be told,
I find a bit beneath this particular woman. Surely a creature so
exotic, so perfect can come up with a more original name. But that
really makes no difference. All that matters is X, and what matters
to her, matters to me.

The idiot creature had gotten out for an
instant, slunk out the back door when X had her head turned. X had
flown onto the deck, screamed “Pumpkin!” with such a note of panic
in her voice that I had to stop and stare. How could she care so
much for such an inconsequential creature? The cat must have sensed
it as well, for she froze in the fallen leaves, glanced about once
or twice, then turned and scurried back up the stairs and straight
into the house.

I watched as X stood, hand to her throat,
chest heaving slightly, the crisis averted. She looked at me,
unrealizing, then returned indoors, barring the door securely
behind her. An unlocked door or window would never lead me to this
prize. X is too smart to be careless like that. A challenge, to say
the least.

It began so simply. Just a brief flash of a
smile, no teeth showing, lips compressed but turned up at the
corners of her mouth. Gray blue eyes snapped my direction, then
slid away before she actually focused on me. She walked so tall,
her ponytail bouncing as she stepped lightly toward her car. The
day was warm and she was dressed for the gym, long legs and Nikes.
I stepped close enough to catch her scent, coming from, rather than
going to. I imagined her there, glistening beneath the television
sets. The deep richness of her scent invaded my senses permanently.
Even now, all I have to do is conjure that image and she’s there,
in me, with me.

I was lost. I knew, at that moment, I had to
have her.

Watching was enough, at first. I wondered
what she thought about in those unguarded moments. Lost in a task,
staring out the window, was X dreaming of me? Wanting that slight
edge that’s missing from her life?

The neighborhood dogs are a nightmare. They
bark and bark. It’s like being in a kennel. Are they yapping at me?
Perhaps. Maybe they’re just so stupid that the slightest scent, the
tiniest whisper of a breeze catches their imaginations and the
respond as only a dog can, with immediate and incessant barking.
There is one in particular, a deep-throated WOOF that I know drives
X mad. I hear the dog start and see her roll her eyes, wondering
how long the stupid beast will go on. Sometimes it will bark for
hours, the chorus of hounds around the rest of the neighborhood
chiming in for a midday serenade. I can tell it annoys her. I can
only do one thing. If it will make my love happy, I will do it
now.

***

The screaming is unbearable. Oh, how could X
misconstrue my gift? I don’t mean to scare her. Dear God, I love
her! I want her. I need her.

***

Apparently all the women in the neighborhood
have been on edge. I hear them whispering to X. They don’t feel
safe. They are afraid of what lurks in the night. They are afraid
of me.

I hear the men talking amongst themselves.
They don’t want to scare the wives.

“What kind of animal could do such a
thing?”

“Must have been a bear. That’s a big dog to
have been taken down by that pack of coyotes that’s been hanging
around.”

“A bear, in these woods? We’re residential on
three sides. Do you really think one could get this far into
town?”

“I’d think anything is possible. They get
hungry enough, they’ll go where the food is.”

“But if it was a bear, it didn’t eat the dog.
Just tore it up.”

“Maybe it was injured, saw the dog as a
threat and attacked.”

On cue, the group stared at me, lurking in
their woods. They didn’t see me, of course. But I shifted a bit,
sending the birds on the limb next to me catapulting into the air,
just to let them know I’m here.

***

It was when X saw me, that first time, when
her eyes grew wide and her hand went to her mouth to stifle a
scream, or perhaps a knowing smile. That’s when the men congregated
again, and decided to end my days.

I’ll never forget how stunning she was at
that moment. She’d come to the fencerow to plant some bulbs. She
had a basket filled with tulips, hyacinths and paper whites, was
wearing a soft oyster colored fleece vest that perfectly matched
the shade of her eyes, sensible gardening shoes covering her bare
feet. It was warming so nicely during the day. Who could blame her
for wanting to get out, to breathe in the fresh air? To taste the
forthcoming softness on the breeze. Winter was finally passing, and
it hadn’t been mild. Not that I minded, just the sight of her
behind those quarter-paned windows had given me warmth and
strength. But to have her here, in the flesh, while delightful, was
unexpected.

I admit I didn’t handle the encounter well.
All these months, waiting for the perfect opportunity, and when it
presented itself… I ran. Our eyes met, and I panicked. Thrashed off
into the woods, making enough noise that the replacement dog next
door started a howling cadence and was immediately matched with
four other wails, one of which came from deep within X’s beautiful
breast. I turned for a moment in my flight and saw her back,
fleeing into the safety of the house. Damn.

So our idyllic time came to an end. The men
returned, this time armed. They forced their way into the forest.
Found my camp. Poked through my belongings. Admitted to themselves
that there was no way a bear could have made such a spectacular
fire pit and hearth. But I was gone, well ahead of them. I wouldn’t
be back anytime soon. Give them some time to get over it. Let them
call the police, search the area. Realize that I’m no longer
there.

I will bide my time. X is worth it. I want
her so much. I just can’t live without her. And now, I don’t have
to. The new windows, the new kitchen, everything is as it was.
We’re just in a new town, with new woods.

I am every bump in her night. Every creak of
a pipe. Every time a dog barks, she knows it is because they sense
my presence. I am the hair that sticks up on the back of her neck.
The unexplained feeling of dread that overwhelms her, making her
glance over her shoulder. I am her nightmares and her day terrors.
And I love her so very, very much.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

Discount Noir, Edited by Patricia Abbott and Steve
Weddle, Untreed Reads, 2010

Walmart

Black Friday

5:05 A.M.

The swarming lines of people were jubilant
despite the unseasonably warm morning. There was Christmas in the
air—the Muzak trembling under the weight of the bass line. O
Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum. Vicky tried to ignore the pulsing ecstasy
that permeated the bargain hunters around her. She never thought
she’d be in line at five in the morning on the craziest shopping
day of the year, but her daughter so desperately wanted the Mercy
doll. This would be Lauren’s last Christmas; Vicky wanted
everything to be perfect.

As if that would matter.

The doors sprang open. With a cheer, the
crowd flowed into the over-lit store.

Vicky ignored the screaming signs and
caterwauling masses, took a right turn, then a left. Victory! She
was the first one here. The dolls were up ahead, the aisle
shockingly empty.

Except for the small, blonde angel, staring
at the shelves with forceful longing.

Vicky drew up short when she saw her.

My goodness. She looks just like the little
girl who was featured in that gossip magazine last week. Vicky had
read the article, wondering if the age progressions could possibly
be right. What would her own child look like in seven years, when
the roundness of her baby fat smoothed into actual features? The
thought ripped a hole in her chest.

The little girl’s eyes were too big in her
face, the sharp curve of her jaw jutting out. Could it be the same
girl? Surely not. Surely this was a figment of Vicky’s overactive
imagination.

The crowds were closing in. Vicky snatched
the precious doll from the shelf, tried to ignore the little girl
standing so quietly beside her. Mission complete, she hesitated for
another moment. The girl from the pictures would be nine now.
Kidnapped on her second birthday, assumed dead. The age looked
right.

No, Vicky decided. There was no way. That
little girl had gone missing from Minnesota. How would she possibly
get to Valdosta, Georgia?

The speakers poured out the Nutcracker, and
Vicky felt a pounding in her temples. She needed to go—she had the
doll, there was nothing keeping her here. But something pulled at
her stomach, so she stooped and faced the little girl.

“Are you—”

The girl’s face contorted in fear and she
dashed away.

Well. That was that. Vicky took the doll for
her sweet dying daughter and forced her way to the checkout. They
were celebrating Christmas tomorrow night. Vicky swallowed hard.
Her daughter wouldn’t make it until the actual day. She’d be lucky
to make it through the weekend.

She sighed deeply. What kind of woman would
she be if she didn’t at least mention to the Walmart security guard
that she thought she’d seen little Jessica Scott?

***

Lauren was mesmerized by the glittery tinsel
dancing on the edges of the tree. Her mom was so sweet, trying hard
to make this a nice Christmas. Lauren heard her slip out before
dawn; she wasn’t supposed to know that Mom had run to Walmart to
buy her the Mercy doll. But every noise, every conversation, echoed
through the living room. The hospital bed, with its tubes and wires
and beeps, wouldn’t fit upstairs. This way, she could see the fancy
tree and the window with its view to the street.

She was sorry to see her parents in so much
pain. She’d been trying to help prepare them, so they would know
she’d love them always. Dad rushed around with a haunted look on
his face; Lauren knew that he felt guilty living. She didn’t know
how to tell him that it was okay. Her mom was resigned and surged
forward. Lauren sometimes felt it would be easier if she were gone;
it seemed everyone was just waiting for her heart to stop beating.
It wouldn’t be long now.

She ran her hand over her bare head, still
pained at losing the deep black hair. Mom promised that when she
got to heaven, her hair would be back, but Lauren didn’t believe.
Not really.

She turned on the television with her remote.
Mom must have been watching that Scottish comedian before she
turned over the night shift to the nurse—the morning news was on. A
big red banner flashed across the screen: BREAKING NEWS.

Her mother was on the television. People were
smiling, laughing, excited. Lauren felt the happiness flow into
her. She was feeling so sleepy suddenly. She thought to call to
Dad, to tell him Mommy was on the television, but her breath
hitched in her throat.

So tired.

She watched instead, heard her mother talking
about the little girl she’d seen. Another red sign came on the
screen: JESSICA SCOTT FOUND!

The newscaster said that Jessica had been
missing for over seven years. That was longer than Lauren had been
alive. Her mom had found the lost girl. They both looked so
happy.

It filled Lauren’s heart with joy. Her breath
caught once more, and her mother’s smile shepherded her away.

Flash Pan Alley 2007; Translated to Finnish
as “Ruohikon Madonna” ASSA, No. 2, 2008, Edited and Published by
Juri Nummelin.

“There she is.”

Papillion muttered the words, breathing
deeply. His eye was pressed hard to the scope of his rifle, the
fine cross lines breaking the scene below into quadrants. Upper
left, a grassy field. Bottom left, parking lot. Bottom right, a
line of people, sweating, stinking masses gathered to pay homage.
Upper right, the prize. Nestled deep on a hard wooden table,
surrounded by bleeding flowers, a sheet of metal imprinted with the
image of the Virgin Mary.

A scam, he thought, then instinctively lifted
his right hand off the trigger and crossed himself. Papillion may
be a heathen, but he was a respectful heathen. What if it wasn’t?
What if somehow, the hand of God had come down and touched the slab
of iron, imprinting the face of the mother of the Lord into the
very molecules? Who was he to say that it couldn’t have
happened?

A realist, that’s who. A man who knew it was
a falsehood, a lie perpetrated to force the means to an end.

He settled his finger back on the pull and
used his falcon sight to follow her progress.