You Believers (22 page)

Sally sighed as she left the room. “Well, at least it’s got everyone watching the news.” She didn’t like the news but felt obliged to know what was going on. She walked out onto the porch, sat in a wicker rocking chair, and closed her eyes. She liked the sound of cicadas in the trees. She liked the sounds of night. A dog barking in the distance. Another dog calling back. They were all talking. All sorts of things going on in the world, and the human ear lacked the range to understand. She glanced at her neighbors’ house. All in darkness.
Odd
, she thought. Usually when Molly came home, she turned on every light in the house. Sally thought she had just heard Molly’s car pull in. She stood, studied the house. Felt something was wrong. She thought about going over but couldn’t think of a reason. She turned to go inside, figuring if Molly needed something, she’d call.

Molly lay curled against the carpet, naked, shivering, listening for the sounds of him in the kitchen. She prayed something, anything could happen that would prevent his return. An earthquake, a heart attack, the house burning down. She prayed to God, but it was the voice that answered.
Get him to tell you the story
. Maybe she was just going crazy. Maybe she should just give in, let voices go unraveling in her head, let him squash her and get it done with. But the clock chimed over the fireplace, and she remembered that her mother would be home soon. Her mother. It had to stop. She had to find a way to save herself, to save her mother, to save all the other women this man might hurt. She remembered his words:
This would make a great story if you lived
.

She was naked, and her hands and feet were duct-taped. She prayed that her mother wouldn’t come home, then prayed that her
mother would come home and save her. She opened her eyes, not knowing what to pray for.

She heard his steps coming toward her and squeezed herself into a tighter ball, as if she could disappear like one of those roly-poly bugs she used to find under bricks in the backyard. The little bugs would squeeze themselves into tiny gray balls in the palm of her hand as if by curling tightly in on themselves, hiding their blind little eyes, they could make the hand that held them disappear. She never hurt them. She just rolled them around in her palm a while, then dropped them back to uncurl and crawl away in the dirt. Dirt. She could see dirt. Taste it. She was a woman dying into the leaves. But she wasn’t dead yet.
You are stronger than he is
, the inner voice whispered.
Get up
!

She pulled herself up to face him where he stood in the doorway.
Keep him talking
. She would keep him talking until she found a way to run.

“Don’t you have any Coke in this house?”

Be polite. Be patient
. She swallowed the crazy giggle rising in her throat.
Be patient
?

She looked up at him, fully clothed and so relaxed. He was eating her shrimp lo mein, finishing it off as far as she could tell. “In the garage,” she said. “There’s a refrigerator where we keep party supplies. Beer, Coke, all kinds of stuff in the freezer. I could get up and make you something if you liked.” Where were these words coming from? She sounded so normal, offering snacks while she was duct-taped and naked, sitting on the floor.

He walked away. “If I want you to do something, I’ll tell you.”
He likes to talk. Get him to tell you the story
. Molly tried to remember just when her mind had started unraveling. He’d raped her. She had seen that from a distance. She had been at the end of
a long tunnel, had seen it in a tiny circle of light in the distance, a naked girl being mauled by a dog.
But you’re not dead. Keep fighting. Keep your head, Molly
. He had taken a break at one point to eat her takeout, come back, and done it again as if she were no more than a workout. And now he was in the kitchen eating again.
He plans to kill you
. It was someone else’s voice. Not her own voice. She wondered if there really were spirits out there.

Panic swept through her. She was dying, crossing that line into the world where spirits came forward, offered their hands. No. She strained against the tape at her hands. She didn’t believe in spirits. She was losing her mind. She told herself,
Stay in this world, this world
. She pressed her feet into the carpet as if the very soles of her feet could help her hang on.

He came back, plugged in a lamp, and sat on the couch. “I like Coke,” he said, taking a sip from the can. “Settles my stomach. You got me all churned up inside, princess.” Then she saw it, a stuffed floppy-eared beagle she’d had as a child. She still kept it on her pillows when she made her bed. He had been in her room. He had probably put his hands in every corner of the house. What could he want with her stuffed toy beagle? He poked a potato chip in his mouth, chewed, looked at her. “Are you scared?” He looked like some kind of monster, poking food through the hole in the mask. She could see his mouth, his teeth.

“Is that what you want?” she said.
The Lord didn’t give us a spirit of fear
. . . . She cowered, wishing she could hide. But he didn’t even see her. He rubbed at his belly, leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling. He took a long, slow breath, inhale, exhale. She hoped one of her kicks had hurt him somewhere.

He must have felt her watching. “What you looking at? Want some more?”
He’ll smash you like a fly if you let him
. She could see
herself as an insect now, trapped and dying on a windowsill while people moved in other houses, the sun set, the moon rose, the wind lifted, and the world turned away.

He stood, rubbed his belly. He walked to the window. “I am the devil, you know. Hurt a lot of women. I kind of have to. “

“But you don’t—”

“Sometimes you have to.” He leaned into the window, looked past the drapes, scanned the streets for traffic.

“What did you do to the other one?” She couldn’t believe her voice, speaking as if this were a normal conversation.

“Which one?” He came back to the couch, smiling. He sipped his Coke.

She didn’t know why the words came. “The blue-truck one.”

“Miss Positiv on her license plate? She kept trying to talk to me like I was some kind of friend. Thought she could talk her way out of things.” He laughed a little and went back to his Coke. He looked at her. “I see you trying to do the same thing. Talk to me. Keep me talking.”

The words rose:
This will make a great story if you live
. “I know what you’re going to do. I’m just curious,” she said. She wasn’t making any sense.

Jesse shook his head. “She had this old blue pickup—you know, that old kind, robin’ s-egg blue. Mike called it sky blue, but I know robin’ s-egg blue when I see it. No automatic locks. Went down easy. Didn’t bother to lock her door. Like you. You think you’re safe in this gated community. Why the hell they name a place like this Land Fall? Who wants to live in a place called Land Fall?”

“Was she rich?” Molly said.

“Who?”

“The last one,” Molly said.

“Nah, bought her clothes at Dollar Daze. Nothing like you,
princess. But this one, man, she trusted me. Miss Positive Vibration, plays it cool when a guy jumps in her car. I could see her checking out my clothes. I was wearing good shit. She thought I might be a regular guy.”

“What did you do to her?” She trembled at the sound of the question in the air. She hadn’t even thought, and the words had popped out. Jesus, he could kill her just for asking that. But then, he would kill her if she stayed silent, if she talked; no matter what she did, he would kill her.
No. You won’t let him
. The voice whispered calmly now.

He leaned back, looked at her, swallowed. “You want to know what I did. Like you some reporter for the news.” He snickered, took a swig of beer. “We made her drive over the river and through the woods. God’s country, they call it, but when you get out that far, it’s the devil’s land. Nobody hears you scream. But she never screamed. Fucking brave all the way.”

Molly wondered if she could be brave, wondered how she would die. The voice cried inside,
No, you will not die
.

He sat back, scooped up the stuffed dog, looked at her and said, “This yours?” He squeezed the neck so hard it shuddered in the air. Then he dropped it. A silent, quick fall to the couch. “No pleasure in it when it goes so fast. That’s why I’m taking my time with you.” Molly sat shivering.
No pleasure in it when it goes so fast
. She realized he was waiting for her mother. He’d rape her mother. Kill them both.

He sat on the couch and tossed the stuffed dog from hand to hand. He stopped. He held the dog and patted it so hard that its head flattened against his chest. “I like dogs,” he said. He laughed and stuffed the toy into his backpack. “I’m keeping it. It’s a present for a friend. Don’t look so shocked. I do have friends. Nicki Lynn, she’s cool. Not like you, spoiled little princess. Nicki Lynn, she came up rough, and she knows how to love a man. You gotta be some woman
if Zeke lets you stick around. And you know what?” He looked cheerful, but she could hear the meanness in the words. “She just had this baby today. A baby boy. Named him Jesse. Like me. She tells me they’re naming him for Jesse James. Could at least give me the satisfaction of saying the kid’s named for me.” He leaned close to her. “You bitches, man, can’t count on you for a damn thing. Jesse James. I don’t give a shit. So I’m taking her boy your stuffed dog here. Gonna get him to love it, and when he loves it so much he won’t let go, I’m gonna tell her where that little old stuffed dog came from.” He laughed. “She’s gonna flip, and hell, you won’t be needing it.” He sat snapping the flashlight on, off, on again.

“What’d you do with the girl and her truck?”

“The truck?”

“The girl in the blue truck.”

“Ain’t your fuckin’ business.” He threw a pillow hard at her, hit her in the face. He stood.

He means to kill you
. She could see her mother crying, her things being boxed and given away. She closed her eyes, felt herself sinking through the carpet, the floor, the basement to be buried in dirt, covered in leaves. She couldn’t shake the thought of wind rippling through trees overhead. Black birds soaring in a dark blue sky. There was a world out there.

He stood suddenly, and she braced herself for him, but he bent over, then straightened, rubbed his belly. He bent, checked the duct tape at her ankles, saw where she’d kicked it loose, just a little but a start. “You are a fighter, ain’t you?” He cut the duct tape from her feet, pulled her up, pushed her into the dining room, forced her to sit, and duct-taped her ankles to the chair legs. He checked the tape on her wrists and ankles. “I can’t have you running away in case I need to leave the room.” He paused, studied her in the beam of the
flashlight. “Look at that skin. So white, so soft, little-girl skin. Bet you ain’t got a scar on you.” He ran his fingertip across her chest, up to her neck. “I didn’t make you bleed yet.” He waved the knife in front of her, jabbed it at her, but she raised her hands, swung against his jabs, the blade stabbing where it hit. Her grabbed her wrists, held them, and took a jab at her neck. She swung away, but the blade caught her shoulder, and she gasped, nearly passed out from the pain.
Don’t panic
, the voice said.
Stay calm
. A crazy giggle rose up in her chest, and she couldn’t stop the laughing. Yes, this was madness, a voice saying,
Stay calm
.
The Lord didn’t give us a spirit of fear
. She looked up at him, grinning, felt the blood trickling down her chest. He patted her head. “You sit tight. I need another Coke.”

Molly tried to pray.
Please save me
.

Save yourself
, the voice said. She couldn’t tell if the thought was her own thought or that voice unraveling in her head.
Focus
.
Fight like a man. Fight
. Molly sat in the darkness, listening for sounds of him in the kitchen. She heard him open the back door. It wasn’t over yet. He was just taking a break. She didn’t have to see out the window to know that one by one, lights were going out. Her neighbors were brushing their teeth, setting alarm clocks, preparing for bed. Oblivious. Her legs strained at the duct tape binding her legs to the chair. Duct tape. It could hold bumpers onto cars. It could hold anything.
Unless you start a little rip with your nails
. Her hands burned from the cuts, the binding of the tape, but she bent over, fought the dizziness, the pain, and strained to dig at the edges of the tape with her nails. She moved from the right leg to the left, shifting when pain seared. She heard his steps, sat up.

He stood in the doorway. “What you doing?”

She dropped her hands to her lap. “Praying,” she lied. “I was praying.”

He laughed. “Well, you go on and pray if you think that’s gonna do you any good.” He rubbed his belly, bent over, whispered, “Goddamn it.” He straightened, took a breath. Molly could see something was wearing him down. Maybe she had broken a rib.

Molly leaned back, closed her eyes, whispered, “Goddamn you.”

“I was damned a long time ago.” He pulled the curtain back from the window, stared out at the darkness. “You ever seen anything die?”

Molly shook her head, wondered if a dead squirrel on the side of the road counted.
Talk to him
, she thought. “I’ve seen dead squirrels,” she said. “A baby bird.”

He let the curtain fall back into place. “I shouldn’t have drunk your momma’s scotch. That and Chinese.” He shook his head. “They don’t mix.” He took a flattened joint from his pocket. He lit up and threw the match on the floor, mashed it out. As he drew the smoke into his lungs, he looked down the hall. “I had a dog once. Watched it bleed to death. My momma, she wasn’t around to hear me crying. Bitch was never around. I had a pup once. Can you see that? Me? Little kid with a dog?”

She nodded. “Tell me about when you were a boy.”

“To hell with that. Let’s talk about you.” He grabbed the knife, stabbed it into the table, leaned to study the cut on her shoulder. “You haven’t bled enough.” He grabbed the knife and stabbed at her. She flung her arms up, fought the knife away from her face with her hands, felt the stabs sting again and again at her hands, her arms, her neck. She kicked and kicked at the tape, felt it loosen at her ankles. She struggled up, legs almost free. She fell back with the chair, and he was on top of her, slinging the knife wherever he could reach. She would not die. She kept fighting with her bound hands.