It Started with a Whisper

by A W Hartoin

“No. I want you to have them.” Frank’s voice shook. It took a lot for him to stand there in defiance of my crazy mother, so I took the baggie. “They’ll help. They always help,” he said.

  “Cookies are always good.”

  “Not just cookies. Your mom’s cookies.” Frank moved in closer, staring into my eyes intently.

  “Dude, they’re just cookies.”

  “No, they’re not. Your mom’s like really good at cooking.”

  “Whatever.”

  Mom yelled for Frank from somewhere outside.

  “I have to go. Eat them before we come back. Don’t forget.”

  “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m perfect. You’re the one who’s in trouble.”

  Frank ran down the hall and I heard the screen door snap closed. The crunching of gravel died away in the distance as the cars left for Shasta’s party. I stuck the baggie in my pocket and sat on my bed, listening to the birds chirp and picking at a scab on my knee. It was strange to be at Camp alone. I couldn’t remember ever being alone there before. The place was usually teeming with people and loud with their activities.

  I wandered from room to room. It was both peaceful and lonely there by myself. My anger at Mom faded, but not my anger at Jason Greenbow and even Miss Pritchett for bringing him into Shasta’s life. When I got to Mom’s porch, I stuffed one of the rags she used for polishing her sculptures in my pocket. I knew exactly what to do. I’d find the exhaust port on Miss Pritchett’s roof and stick the rag with a bird’s nest down the hole, maybe some leaves and mud to make it look like an animal did it. I’d stuff it good and tight. Pretty soon their nasty-ass house would fill up with sewer fumes. I smiled at the thought of it. How long would it take them to realize what happened? It could be a few days since the seal wouldn’t be as good as stuffing it full of rags, but it could conceivably be considered an accident.

  Or maybe it wouldn’t. I didn’t care anymore. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted Greenbow to know he was being screwed with. I’d make him understand that everything had consequences, especially hurting Shasta.

  I cut a slice of bread, smeared it with butter, and set off for Greenbow’s house with the ravens trailing me. I walked straight toward the path and felt kind of good. I didn’t have to sneak off or wonder what to say if Mom asked where I’d been. Of course, she rarely asked where I’d been, not at Camp anyway, but I usually thought up excuses and diversions just in case. On that day, I was free to do as I pleased.

  Distance slipped away under my feet. I kept an eye out for Beatrice, but saw no sign of her. The geese on the pond honked as I passed, hoping for a handout. I finished the last bite of bread and tossed the crust into the water for them to battle over. I went to the edge of the water. Thrushes liked to build their nests among the reeds and cattails. I found three abandoned nests and chose the largest. I coated the rag with mud and wrapped the nest in it.

  As I turned away something caught my eye. The dock gleaming in the sun. For a second, I saw the shadows of my sisters, my friends, and cousins there. Perfectly arranged on the end of the dock, smiling, bronzed, and full of plans. I was there, too. Perfect. The way we should always be, but wouldn’t.

  I turned away, missing them intensely, no longer thrilled to be alone. Then I headed into the darkness of the woods, half expecting the wind to greet me, but it didn’t. I was powerfully alone in my choice, but I never thought to turn back. I pushed my loneliness away and walked on. Once I got to Greenbow’s house, I could be in and out in under ten minutes. Jason Greenbow should be at work and I could get around Miss Pritchett, as dumb as she was, and get up on the roof with a quickness. It would only take a minute or two to fill the pipe and I’d be done. My idea was on par with any of Luke and Caleb’s. It might take Greenbow and Miss Pritchett a week or better to find out why their house smelled so bad. Maybe even longer. It took five lamps for Miss Pritchett to figure out somebody was mucking with them. I didn’t want to underestimate her stupidity. As for Greenbow, I had no idea how long it would take him. But he was a bully and a drunk, so I figured intelligence wasn’t his claim to fame.

  When I got to the property line, I paused and waited for the wind to make an appearance. It didn’t. Then I stepped over the invisible line between two trespassing signs without a thought to my family’s rules. Only the blue jays in the trees reprimanded me.

  As I walked through the woods toward Greenbow’s house, something changed, like when a barometer drops before a big storm. The air felt different, still and heavy. It felt weird, wrong. My stomach tied itself into a knot and I didn’t know why. I found the blackberry bramble and crouched behind it. The ravens landed and formed their usual half-moon. Then I heard it. Someone was crying, not very loud, but it was definitely crying. For a second, I thought about leaving. The feeling in the place was so bad, I knew I should, but I found myself transfixed by the sound, unable to move. So I stayed behind the bramble, waiting, because something was about to happen.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  WHATEVER IT WAS kept not happening, so I settled down in the dirt and weeds behind the bramble with my elbows on my knees. I ate Frank’s cookies as a temporary cure for the boredom. They were good. So good I got a little light-headed from the sugar rush. I should’ve eaten more than one slice of bread before I set out.

  The ravens hopped up close to me, looking for crumbs. The biggest one settled next to my knee. I reached out a finger to see if I could touch it when I saw Greenbow’s truck parked beside Miss Pritchett’s camry. It should’ve bothered me more than it did. Maybe he’d leave if I just waited awhile.

  Waiting was no problem. Nobody was looking for me and I had all the time in the world, except the crying was getting to me. Why didn’t Greenbow make her stop? If she didn’t stop, I’d have to get the hell out of there.

  I picked at a hangnail until it bled, trying to make up my mind to leave. I could come back another day. Sure, it was a perfect chance, but it didn’t look like Jason Greenbow was leaving any time soon. Even if he was drunk, he was probably more alert than Miss Pritchett. Then the crying stopped, leaving the muffled sound of a TV to keep me company. A screen door slammed. I jumped to my knees. The nest and rag tumbled off my lap. Through the bramble, I could make out someone walking in the backyard. I peeked around the edge of the bramble and saw Miss Pritchett in a big, ratty tee shirt, dirtier than the last one I’d seen her in. She had her back to me, and her shoulders shook as she picked up empty beer cans and put them in a bag. Then a yell came from the house, a loud bellow of rage. Doors slammed and the sound of breaking glass echoed through the woods. Miss Pritchett froze, the way a deer does when it senses danger. Usually, the deer would bound away, but Miss Pritchett stayed. She seemed to shrink down and become less and less of herself as the sounds in the house got louder and louder.

  No more waiting. It was coming. Do something. Move, Miss Pritchett.

  But Miss Pritchett didn’t move, even when Jason Greenbow barreled through the back door, breaking the screen door off its hinges. He leapt off the porch and headed for Miss Pritchett as the door went flying into the porch railing, splintering into pieces.

  “You stupid bitch,” he screamed and Miss Pritchett turned around. Her face was distorted with bruises and a split lip. She held the garbage bag up in front of her like a shield, but he shoved her right through it. She fell backwards and the cans went flying around her like confetti.

  “You can’t do anything right. You know that, cunt?”

  Miss Pritchett held up her hands. One was smeared with blood. “What? What?”

  “What? You want to know what?” He grabbed her, and yanked her toward the house. She tried to walk, but his pace was too fast, and she tripped. He dragged her through the dirt. When he reached the porch, he shoved her away from him into an old rusty barbecue pit. Her head hit the bottom with a meaty clang and my stomach heaved. I swallowed and forced the burning liquid back down.

  Greenbow w
ent into the house, screaming cuss words I never imagined a guy would say in front of a girl. Miss Pritchett lay half under the barbecue, sobbing and holding her hand to her head. Blood streaked her blond hair. Greenbow came back out of the house. He had something wadded up in his hands.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  Her body convulsed in the dirt and ashes under the barbecue with each vicious word. She said something, but she was crying so hard, I couldn’t understand what it was.

  “You don’t know? You don’t fucking know?” Greenbow grabbed her ankle and pulled her out from under the barbecue and smacked her. His hand was as big as the side of her head and the sound of it hitting her face was like a dry tree branch snapping. Miss Pritchett rolled in the dirt after the smack and lurched to her feet. She ran from Greenbow straight towards my bramble. I gasped and tried to shrink myself into the smallest package behind the densest part of the bramble. Greenbow caught Miss Pritchett two feet from my hiding place. His big hand reached out and snatched her hair. She screamed and flipped backwards, landing on her back.

  Greenbow threw the thing he’d been holding onto Miss Pritchett’s chest. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You think it’s funny? It ain’t fucking funny!”

  I strained to see through the branches. I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  Miss Pritchett sat up, her shoulders and head bowed. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “You don’t know what happened? You dyed my shit pink. That’s what happened.” He snatched the ball off her lap and shook it out. It was a pair of underwear, once white, but now a pale pink.

  The bitter bile rose up in my throat again, burning my tongue. I clamped both hands over my mouth and swallowed it down.

  “You think it’s funny?” Greenbow yelled.

  “No. No. I didn’t. I didn’t do it,” Miss Pritchett cried.

  “Yes.” Greenbow drew back his foot and kicked Miss Pritchett in the hip. “You.” He kicked her again in the rear as she fell over. “Did.” He walked around her body, writhing amidst the dirt and beer cans, and tried to kick her square in the face. He missed, but his boot slit her cheek open. He stepped back from her, ran his hand over his face and threw the underwear at her. “Stupid bitch.” Then he walked away to the house, humming as he went. He kicked a remnant of the screen door when he went inside.

  I stared at Miss Pritchett through the bramble. She wasn’t moving or crying. It was quiet. The trees rustled with a soft summer breeze and the birds went on chirping as though nothing had happened. A familiar wind brushed across my cheek. At its urging I crawled to the edge of the bramble. The wind left me and I watched the long grass wave and blow in a trail toward Miss Pritchett. She was on her side, facing me. Her eyes were closed and blood from the slit on her cheek dripped off her swollen nose into the grass. Her tee shirt was wadded up around her breasts, revealing a pattern of bruises on her stomach. Some were old and faded to a grey. The new ones bloomed to a vicious red.

  The wind swirled around her, lifting the hair off her swollen face and tucking it behind her ear. Her face ballooned to the size of a basketball and her ribs barely moved with the rhythm of her breathing. One more kick was all it would take. The pink underwear lay beside Miss Pritchett, removing any doubt of my guilt.

  He was going to kill her. And it was my fault. I should’ve known. Shasta warned me not to mess with him, but I didn’t listen. I wanted revenge. Now Miss Pritchett was paying.

  I looked back at the house. Greenbow cranked up the volume on the TV and a Guns N’ Roses song echoed off the trees. “Where do we go? Where do we go now?” I’d never be able to hear that song again without thinking of Miss Pritchett lying in the dirt, waiting for me to decide what to do.

  I never did really decide what to do. I just did it. I crept around the bramble, keeping one eye on the house, and one eye on Miss Pritchett. I touched her shoulder with my index finger, half afraid she was dead already.

  “Miss Pritchett. Miss Pritchett, wake up,” I whispered.

  She stirred and cringed at my touch.

  “Miss Pritchett. Come on.”

  She opened her eyes. They were unfocused and she didn’t really see me or anything.

  “It’s Puppy, I mean Ernest, Miss Pritchett. Come on, we gotta get out of here.”

  “What?” Her words were slurred, but her eyes focused on my face.

  I took her arm and tried to lift. She wasn’t very heavy, but I’d never be able to carry her all the way to Camp.

  “You have to walk. I can’t carry you. He’s going to come back.”

  For the first time, Miss Pritchett looked at me without loathing. Maybe she didn’t know who I was. She nodded and struggled to her feet. I put her arm around my shoulder and we walked into the woods together. The ravens circled, their wingtips brushing our cheeks and arms.

  Once we’d gone a few yards, I said, “We have to go faster. Try to run.”

  Miss Pritchett coughed and spat some blood. Then she nodded. We managed a slow jog, awkward, but faster than walking. I pictured the property line. If we could make it across, we’d be fine. I kept hoping the wind would come again. The touch of a friend would’ve been welcome, but the woods were still. All I heard was the birds and Miss Pritchett’s raspy breath.

  Ahead, I saw a flash of an orange trespassing sign.

  “We’re almost there. Hurry. Come on.”

  I surged ahead, dragging her with me. We were almost there. Our feet ate up the yards until we were within spitting distance. My legs and lungs burned. I didn’t know how Miss Pritchett was making it. Blood continued to drip down her cheek, but she kept moving.

  The ravens started screeching and dive-bombing my head. I ignored them and continued to drag Miss Pritchett. The ravens got louder and snapped at my ears. I glanced over my shoulder and an incredible pain exploded in my head. My vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Blackness.

  When I woke, my face was on fire. The whole right side burned and throbbed. My hand went to my cheek and I felt a hot wetness. In another second, my hearing returned. Screaming. Who was screaming? I opened my eyes and saw nothing but the thick pad of leaves on the forest floor. The screaming went on behind me. I rolled over and saw a man kick a woman lying on the ground. The man jumped on top of her and punched her. His hand went up into the air and down across her face, spraying blood across the ground toward me.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man bellowed.

  The woman screamed and struggled, her face turned toward me. It came back. Miss Pritchett. The underwear. Jason Greenbow.

  I staggered to my feet and looked for a weapon. A thick tree branch laid half-buried in leaves a couple of feet away. I grabbed it and ran at Greenbow. As I reached him, I swung the branch back and struck Greenbow with everything I had. He yelped, like a little kid, and I cracked him again. Greenbow wrenched the branch out of my hands. I stumbled backwards.

  Miss Pritchett screamed, “No! No!”

  The ravens flew at Greenbow. They strafed him with their claws and beaks, but he ignored them and hit me while I was still on the ground. The blow carved a burning welt across my left arm and chest.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Greenbow raised the branch and I put my arm up to shield my face. Then Greenbow flew sideways out of my vision.

  “What the fuck?” Greenbow shouted, lying on the ground. He was on his hands and knees. The side of his face and neck were covered with green slime.

  Beatrice.

  Greenbow touched the slime, and looked at me. “I’m going to kill you.” He got to his feet and was knocked sideways again. “Motherfucker!”

  I looked for Beatrice and found her behind a large tree. Her long neck snaked around the trunk as she let another spitball fly. Greenbow bellowed with rage. He stumbled around, looking confused. When his eyes landed on me he came at me with the branch again, and Beatrice charged him. She struck him with her front hooves and drove him back. I ran to Miss Pritchett and pulled her to her feet.
We ran across the property line.

  As soon as we crossed, a calm came over me. I was home. Safe. But I surged on, dragging Miss Pritchett along. We went past the pond. The geese and ducks floated in the water, silent and wary. Miss Pritchett fell to her knees and I lifted her to her feet. No effort at all. I could do it. I was home.

  The path snaked through the woods, leading us to the house. When the path opened up at the yard, Miss Pritchett said, “Where?” The word was hard for her to get out. The right side of her face was completely distorted and her mouth nearly swollen shut from Greenbow’s kicking.

  “My house,” I said.

  Miss Pritchett didn’t reply, but nodded. The thought of my home seemed to energize her as crossing the property line had encouraged me. She began to run faster, but the gentle slope up to the house took everything she could muster. I opened the screen door. She gasped and fell to her knees. I carried her through and into the living room. I didn’t realize she’d passed out until I laid her on the sofa. She fell onto it in an unnatural heap, but I couldn’t worry about that.

  “Where the fuck is the phone?”

  I searched the desk, lifting papers and binders. It wasn’t there. Mom had been on the phone talking to Dr. Jobs. She probably took it out to her porch.

  I left Miss Pritchett and went out the side door to Mom’s porch. It was cluttered with bits of metal, buffing cloths, gallery catalogs, and several huge stainless steel sculptures, the fruits of her summer’s work.

  Somewhere, a cat screeched and a man bellowed. I searched every surface. Maybe Mom took the phone to Aunt Calla’s porch. I started toward her porch on the other side of the house when I heard the sharp snap of a screen door closing.

  “Damn it, Miss Pritchett.” I ran towards the living room instead of Aunt Calla’s porch.

  The sound wasn’t from Miss Pritchett though. She was still on the sofa, and she was awake, her eyes round and glassy. The hem of her tee shirt was balled up in her fists, exposing her bruised belly. She stared straight ahead. Her head bowed. Her mouth swollen shut. Jason Greenbow stood inside the kitchen door opposite me with Miss Pritchett on the sofa in between us. Long red scratches ran the length of his forearms. Bloody gouges decorated his cheeks. Greenbow planted his feet far apart and he held a hunting rifle in his hands. The remnants of Beatrice’s slime dripped down the side of his face, shirt, and shoulder. His hands were tight on the rifle, but he didn’t look angry anymore.