The Switchblade Mamma

by Lindsey Schussman

  34.

  "Sir? Sir, I will need to ask you to dispose of that bottle of liquor."

  My eyes slowly rolled open. I was groggy and my head was pounding. I looked up at the woman who was speaking to me, morning sun glaring into my eyes. The bright rays shined upon her red hair, giving it an "on fire" look. Her blue eyes, just a tad frightened behind her glasses.

  "Sir, I will need you to dispose of that bottle of liquor, please." She asked again.

  Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps the hangover. Either way, I chucked the bottle into the trashcan next to the bench and for my satisfaction, as well as hers, I grabbed the bottom of my hoodie jacket and my shirt and pulled it up, revealing my breasts. The cool brisk air struck, sending my nipples into an upright position. If that didn't tell her I was a girl, I didn't know what would.

  Her eyes widened, and then rolled. I knew it wasn't her satisfaction, but at least I got some. I figured I would do that from then on... Whoever was confused with my sex was going to get an itty bitty titty show! The fiery red head didn't like my show at all. "Ma'am, I'm going to need for you to leave the premises."

  No worries. Even though I could smell the breakfast protruding from the halls of the homeless shelter and my stomach was grumbling with hunger, I agreed and nodded. As she walked off, I pulled my hand through my hair. A single cigarette fell from my ear into the ground. Even though it wasn't breakfast, it would still satisfied me. As I put the cigarette in my mouth, just out of inclination, I searched my pockets. But of course, there was the book of matches. Dumont had given me just one last bit of fuel to keep going. As I lit up the cigarette, I headed for the highway. If I was to get to where I was going, I would need bus fare.

  Because of the great loving hearts, from the souls exiting the highway, I was able to collect enough money for bus fare and something to put inside my belly. As soon as I reached my destination, close enough to walk, I hit the nearest fast food chain. I gorged myself on empty calories and exhausting trans fats.

  When I walked through my old neighborhood, I saw nothing much had changed. Weeds littered and lawns were unmowed. As I passed the park, I reminisced. I remembered growing up at that park, the playground and I remembered my mom pushing me in the swings. I remembered how our family would have picnics, and my father who had a kite, his kite would always fly the highest of all.

  As I passed the park, I came to the last block that would lead me to my mother's house. I had no idea if my stepfather still lived there. My heart was jumbled with butterflies. As I swallowed hard, I walked. The dead giveaway, my 1989 suburban that my father had given me, was parked in the driveway. The same suburban that I was kidnapped out of, three years ago. I could feel the heat as it overcame my four head. As a casually walked past the house, flames instilled within my mind. Retribution would be served. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The moment of truth was upon me. I circled and hid in an alley across the street. Besides my suburban, no other vehicle resided in the driveway. I would stay close, and watch.

  Soon enough, as a sun began to fade beyond the horizon, a Mercedes pulled up into the driveway, next to my suburban. As I sat crouched and hidden in the alley across the street, I patiently surveyed as I watched my stepfather exit the vehicle with another woman. She was dressed in an extreme risqu? attire. She was way younger than him as well.

  Anger bestowed me. I wanted to rush into the house and to slit his throat where he stood. He gave me up, as well as my mother. It was three years, and no remorse. All he could place his fingers upon, was that hooker's body. He smiled and laughed with the hooker as he jumbled with the keys and tried to open the front door. With some effort, the door was opened and they both entered. Lights lit up the inside and the dwelling was no longer alone. The place came alive as I heard music begin to vibrate through the windows. I swallowed hard and wiggled my jaw. Lillian was gone. Switchblade Mama, she was pissed off and ready for action. I waited a bit longer for the sun to go down and the darkness, let darkness be my guide.

  Soul and chest heavy with breath, I stalked across the street and into the driveway. I settled my hands on the suburban and trailed my fingers all the way down. I missed its greatness and its bumpy ride. As I came to the front door, I knew a simple knock to invite me in would not suffice. I gently turned the knob just to make sure it was locked. It was. I knew my mother kept a spare key. I reached up and felt around at the top of the door frame, and sure enough, there it was.. With pure madness inside my mind, I took the key and shoved it inside the lock, turning. Heat and anger. I felt sorry for the souls that resided in the house, for I was about to unleash the wrath of Switchblade Mama.

  Slowly, I opened the door, peeking. In the front living room, there was the dining room table. I spied, just the hooker was sitting at the table. The music played loudly? Good. As I didn't see my stepfather anywhere, it would cover my entrance.

  Stealthily, I pushed open the door entering, gliding like the cloud of death. My beef was not with the hooker, but her presence did trouble me. She looked up at me, smiling and in a drunken stupor. Her lips parted, showing me her pearly yellows. I looked at her, eyes narrowed and fierce. I raised my lips and spoke through my teeth. "Leave?"

  She nodded and smiled. Perhaps she didn't catch my words. So, I used more of a direct approach. My hand went to my pocket and I pulled out my switchblade. In a swift and single movement, I flicked open the blade and chucked the knife directly onto the table in front of her. I asked her once again. "Leave."

  As the knife planted between her elbows, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She had got the picture. She lifted herself from the chair quickly and walked towards the door. I opened the door for her and before I let her out, I jetted out my arm stopping her. She was a little bit taller than I, so I rose to my tippy toes, speaking between my teeth and directly into her face. "If you speak of this to anyone, I swear to God I will hunt you down. I will cut off your dirty pussy lips, shove them into your mouth and for the rest of your life you will be turning tricks from your worthless gob." Filled with anger, I moved in even closer, lips nearly brushing up against her ear. "The next time you hear a short little fucker tell you to leave, you leave. Do you understand?"

  Her face was expressionless and white. She nodded. I opened the door for her and let her out, locking both the security gate and the door as I went to greet my stepfather.

  Wicked and empowered with hate, I cautiously stalked to the master bedroom as the music continued to play loudly. I pocketed my switchblade. I wouldn't go in with weapons glaring, just yet. I knew my stepfather owned guns, so I would have to be careful.

  The door to the master bedroom was not shut all away. There was a tiny crack. Holding the doorknob, I lightly knocked, twice. I heard my stepfather's voice over the music. "Be right there sweetie, just trying to freshen up."

  I cringed at the words. Christ, he made me want to puke. He gets rid of me, offs my mom and finds comfort in the arms of prostitutes. I smiled with pure satisfaction as I was ready to make my entrance. I couldn't wait to see the look on his face. My cheekbones raised high as my smile overcame everything. I took one last deep breath and slowly pushed open the door.

  "Hello, daddy?" I said it low, menacing and hopefully leaving the stink of putrid upon his skin. I took two steps in and I stopped. I gritted between my teeth, smiling and hopefully showing some fang.

  He was in the middle of buttoning his shirt. He stopped cold as soon as he saw me. The life drained from his face and he became extremely pale. Fear painted his face like a mural, quickly, but then he tried to pass it off. He quickly changed his expression from fear, to relief. He slowly raised his arms and spoke, "my God, you are still alive!"

  I sneered. I quickly widened my eyes and narrowed them once again. "Shut it." I said as I extended my arm, pointing with my finger. "I know about you. I know about your debts. Drunken birdie told me." I lifted my right eyebrow and smiled. "This is what you do in your spare time, Fuck whores?'

  His arms s
lowly lowered. He took a few steps towards his nightstand. I knew he had a gun there. Within his sad pathetic skin, he began to plea. "I had no choice, he was going to kill me."

  "Well, you should have let him kill you. The shit that I'm going to do to you now will not even compare. You are a low life, fucking scumbag. For a whole year, I have been dreaming about this. Retribution, bitch." As I took two steps closer, he took two more steps closer to the nightstand. I lowered my hand and began to finger my knives. I could throw it quickly and maybe get it into his neck, but for some reason I just wanted to make him suffer. Make him suffer the way he made me.

  It was a standoff. Both of us stood, froze. If either of us had holsters and guns, our hands were closely placed to them, waiting to draw. My eyes glared and he just stared. My tongue rolled out, licking my bottom lip. "You have no idea what they have done to me. I am no longer a human, but rather a creature of the night."

  Eyes filled with fear, he shook his head. "It doesn't have to be like this, Lill. We can work together, be a team."

  I took one more step in. "Fuck your team."

  It was quick and I had to act fast. My stepfather went for the drawer, pulling out the .357 Magnum. I leaped onto the bed and went for the gun. I grabbed the collar of his shirt with my left hand and covered my right palm over the muzzle of the gun. The trigger was pulled in the gun went off.

  Stricken with fear, his eyes widened as mine winced with pain. He watched as I pulled away my hand. The bullet never exited. With his eyes mesmerized, he watched as I wiggled my hand about, the bullet falling covered in blood, onto the bed. There was no exit wound. The bio silicate material within my hand, had stopped the bullet completely.

  I took the moment of confusion into my hands, grabbing my stepfather's T-shirt and pulling him in quickly for a head-butt. As he was disoriented by this, I pulled the gun from his hand and aimed it toward his face. "Do you see? You now know, what I am."

  Arms raised and face in complete terror, he looked at me. "What are you going to do, Lill, shoot me?"

  I smiled insanely. "Well, you didn't pay me the same respect. But the way I see it, is you're not even worthy of the bullet. Tonight, you shall not be eating Winchester, but rather Smith & Wesson." With the utmost hate that drilled within my heart, the need to distinguish an evil fire, wanting to end a dirty cycle, I saved the bullet and jammed the gun as far as I could through Eric Desmond's mouth. It pierced through the other side, breaking teeth, complete with flesh crunching out of his skull, pinning him to the wall.

  He went limp and I removed my hand. I stood for a few moments and watched as the blood gushed from his mouth. His ragged teeth hung from his gums and his life slowly drained. As I came out of my Switchblade Mamma trance, I placed the back of my wrist over my lips became nauseous at the site. Bending over, my hands gripping my knees, I took a deep breath. I looked up at him pinned against the wall, with his gun protruding from his mouth.

  His eyes blinked and I became sick. I retched and threw up on the spot. He was still alive. As I no longer wanted him to suffer, I pulled the serrated Spyderco from my pocket and unfolded it. I placed my left hand over his eyes to cover them. With my right hand, I pierced the skin of his neck. Taking my knife, I dug in. Feeling the crunch as it slowly punctured the skin, I drug the knife across his neck. As the blood slowly spilled out, the faint life quickly faded from his eyes. I was completely disgusted with what I had done. I rushed to the bathroom and tried so desperately to wash the blood from my hands. I hoovered my head over the toilet and began to throw up more.

  I had to leave. Going to the closet, I searched for and found my mother's leather biker jacket. I pulled it off the hangar. I was freezing the last couple of days, not to mention, at least I would have something to remember my mother by. As I left the bedroom, I headed for the guest bedroom. I began to search underneath the bed. Wooden bed planks. I finally felt what I was looking for. My mother's coffee can of saved money. I pulled out the money and pocketed it. I really did not want to be a thief, but it would come in handy.

  I did not take one last look at my slain stepfather. I left through the backyard and out to the alley, making sure my hands and fingertips were covered the whole time. I pulled the leather jacket over my hoodie, relieved from the extra warmth.

  I walked briskly. The sun was completely gone by now and the darkness was my cover. Every now and then the usual backyard dog would rush the fence, startling me. I would of course quickly jump out of my skin, for at that point time, I was going out of my mind.

  I was disgusted with what I had done, but either way, I could not take back the past. At least I had remorse. I did not want to think what went through a psychopath's head, but I was pretty sure it was not remorse. At least I knew I was still human on that part. Even though the guy was an asshole, I still felt bad. I hoped it was my feelings that separated me from the brutal killers.

  As I made a vow to myself to keep a low profile, I was in great need of a good stiff drink. I took a few buses out and made my way to the center of Phoenix. It wasn't very far from where I had been, but at least I was not sitting at the neighborhood bar.

  It seemed, after drinking Barrett's whiskey, I had acquired the taste. I had one problem, no ID. I figured I could at least try. If I was asked for one, I would simply state I left it in my car, and leave it at that. I entered the dark musky bar. The smell of Clorox bleach and mold overwhelmed my nose. Something I had not smelled three in years. I was anxious to get alcohol in me. I needed to erase the evening's memories. Flashbacks of my stepfather's face continued to invade my mind. If I didn't get liquor in me soon, I would go crazy.

  As I held up a fistful of dollars to the bartender, compliments of my mother, he graciously took them in exchange for a glass of whiskey. No questions asked. As I downed the first, I asked for another. I downed at least three, before I slowed down and began to sip the fourth. The memories began to fade, like wet paint excessively placed, slowly rolling down its intended object. I could feel as everything slowly rolled out of me.

  The night drug on, and the music played loudly. Boys were rowdy and fights instilled. I had my eyes plastered on the TV sets, just in case. Who knew how long it would take to discover his body, or how much time I had left. Saturday night was turning into Sunday, and my shot, my wonderful drug known as the cocktail was due Sunday. Even though I could still feel the pain quietly rumbling throughout my bones, I knew the next day I would be uncomfortable. By the end of the week, I would be in extreme pain.

  As I was beginning to get even warmer with the passing moments, an older woman sat to the right of me. I didn't acknowledge her first, but I saw her eyeballing me out of my peripherals. I inhaled deeply as I felt her rest her hand over my shoulder.

  Without turning my head, I could hear her raspy over smoked voice. "Hello there, young fella. Aren't you a little bit too young to be in this bar?"

  I was in no mood for games. I slowly turned my head to look at her. She had hazel eyes and over processed blonde hair that slowly stopped a tad bit above her shoulders. She was without a doubt, wearing fake jewelry, and an extremely low cut shirt that screamed, Fuck me!

  As I turned to look at her, she got a glimpse of the scar that covered the left side of my face. "Holy hell! Well, you have been in a few fights, haven't you?" As she said it, she took her hand to my face, outreached her fingers and tried to trace them down my scar. "I think that's rather sexy."

  Paige used to do that. And before she could even reach the top my scar, I quickly grabbed her hand. "No thank you, I'm not in the mood." I said as I slowly lowered her hand for her.

  She gave me a quick sneer, squinted her eyes and said, "freak." With that she picked up her drink and left.

  Fuck the world, I thought. I hoped that no other ladies would visit me that night. I had only one woman on my mind, Paige. I figured it served me right, for I was there out in the spotlight. I could have went to local Circle K, purchased my booze and drank it behind a dumpster. But instead, I
was sitting at the bar, like a worm placed upon a hook waiting to be taken. Not my intentions at all. I was just a victim of circumstance.

  As the night began to wind down, and drinking anymore would induce my vomiting, I paid the bartender and slowly slithered outside. Prior to leaving, I purchased a pack of Pall Mall Red, 100's.Stepping outside, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. Nothing felt better than that first drag after a night of drinking. As I exhaled, I saw out of the corner of my eye the woman who I had rejected earlier standing by a truck with two men.

  I walked from the entrance of the building and into the parking lot. I heard one of the men shout out. "Hey, this chick here tells us you dissed her. What are you, some kind of homo? She's fuckin hot!"

  I gave them no satisfaction of reply. I continued to walk. My feathers began to be ruffled as soon as both men ran up to me and stopped me in my tracks. I took the cigarette from my hands and put into my mouth, still smoking.

  "So what's up, fagot? You too good for chicks around here? Or do you just like sucking cock?" The words came from a man that was at least 5 foot 10. He was probably a little bit older than I, but by the looks and sound of it, he never left his age of adolescents.

  I remained non-confrontational. My anger began to rise, but I took a deep breath to lower it. His other friend who remained silent, was it least 5 foot six and still towering over me. The taller man pushed me. "We don't allow fagots in this bar."

  Standing tall, holding and smoking my cigarette still in my mouth, my eyes began to glare. "Leave it. Walk away now, before you regret your actions."

  The taller man pushed me again, his little buddy chuckling in the background. "What's wrong? Homo don't know how to fight?"

  Well, I tried my best at diffusing the situation, but drunk asses didn't know when to quit. "You can kiss my Fucking gay ass!" I hollered.

  The match was struck, fire ignited. With the cigarette still hanging from my lips, the tall man thrust his fist foreword, aimed at my face. Quickly, I raised my left arm, catching his balled up fist into my hand. Once I had that secure, I thrust my right arm and fist into his elbow, breaking it. He raised his head and like a screeching howler monkey, screamed out in pain, I grabbed his shirt with my left hand and pulled him in closer, raising my right leg and stomping his knee, breaking it. As he fell to his knees in pain, I kicked him in the chest, pushing him to the ground.

  One down, one to go. I turned my sights to the shorter, much fatter guy. I smiled showing teeth. "You have your chance? leave while you can!" I yelled as I stood casually, ashing my nearly spent cigarette. He put up his dukes and began to jump in place, back and forth. I just shook my head and put the cigarette back into my mouth.

  When he threw his first punch, I shot both arms up, covering my face. When his punch landed the back of my arms, I could hear the crunching of his fist as it broke. When he pulled back, holding his broken hand, I moved in quickly, thrusting out my leg and smashing the contents between his. As he fell to his knees and screamed out like a girl, I walked up to him and held his collar in my hand. "You take your asses to the hospital and tell them you got whipped," I leaned in very close to his ear so that my lips and tongue touched it, "by a Fucking girl." I threw him to the ground and released him from my grip.

  The whole time, the blonde haired, hazel-eyed lady was watching. I turned to her as her eyes were wide and her mouth had dropped. "Be careful who you hang out with, they might just be scumbags." Smiling, I took one last drag of my cigarette and threw it to the ground. So much for staying incognito.