Elastic Heart

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “Maybe it isn’t the gun you should be worried about,” I whispered, lips nearly touching.

  “Are you sure you’re talking to me when you say that?” Law asked, inching closer. I watched in fascination as he closed his eyes and his tongue slid across the seam of his lips. I felt the charge in the air again. I could do it. I could close the tiny, minuscule, practically nonexistent gap between us.

  Or, I could do this.

  I lifted my knee and jammed it between Law’s legs. Coughing, Law stumbled back and fell on his ass. At the sound of Law crashing to the ground, Raskol woke and started running around in circles, barking. Eyes watering, Law glowered up at me. Slowly he stood to his feet. With cool, careful motions, he studied me. Then he turned around and walked away. He opened the door and I nearly opened my mouth to say something.

  What would I say? Stay? Did I want him to stay? I’d just kneed him in the balls; talk about mixed messages. My inner ramblings were cut short, though. With his back turned, Law spoke and interrupted my swirling mind.

  “See you soon, Nami.” With that cryptic remark, Law closed the door.

  Is it crazy that sometimes I want the darkness? I stare into the abyss that has become my soul and instead of searching for a flashlight, I want to take a nosedive into the inky black waters. I’ve dipped my toe, feeling the cool rush of sublime apathy and blue cruelty overcome me. The only thing stopping me was him. I never wanted to become like him.

  Maybe he was sick in the head.

  Maybe he needed help.

  Maybe he had been hurt as a child and was riding around on the terrible carousel that is a vicious cycle.

  Maybe I should have had sympathy for him. Maybe he was tortured and in more pain than I could imagine.

  Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

  Maybe his pecker should be ripped off and fed to him while he bleeds out.

  It had been just a day since my botched burglary on Becca Riley. I’d stayed inside to recoup, reformulate, and rewhiskey. There hadn’t been many wins in my camp—strike that, there had been zero wins. Sunday was almost over and I hadn’t come up with any new ideas on how to destroy Morris. Depression was sinking in.

  Curled up on the couch, I posted a picture of shibari on Secrets. I didn’t say anything, just posted the picture. That was my secret for the day. I wanted to be tied up. I was a former rape victim who wanted be tied up during sex. I hated that everything I did now was defined by that goddamn event.

  I was no longer Nami DeGrace. I was Nami DeGrace, rape victim. The label followed me wherever I went, except on Secrets. I knew when I posted the image I would get sexts. It was a naked woman tied up, hanging from a ceiling. Of course people would send me images and nasty texts. They sent them to me when I posted innocuous messages, so now that I’d practically given them an opening, why wouldn’t they respond?

  Not five minutes after I’d shut off notifications for Secrets, I received a text message from Huck.

  “Too afraid to call but not too afraid to be tied up?” he asked. “You’re a mystery Dandelion.”

  I typed my response. “No mystery. Just not into talking to random dudes off the internet.”

  His response was immediate. “Not random. Do random ‘dudes’ know that you miss your stepdad Tony?”

  I stared at the words for longer than I liked, wondering how to respond. Huck was right; I did miss Tony. I missed his thick Boston accent and the way he ate meat out of a can. I made fun of him for it, but you don’t realize how much you miss those quirks until you no longer get to see them.

  “I didn’t tell you that,” I eventually sent.

  “I read between the lines,” Huck sent back almost instantly. “I’m going to call you now.”

  “I’m not going to answer,” I replied just as quickly.

  “What are you so afraid of, Dandelion?” His response maddened me at first. Huck didn’t know me, didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know the life I led, so how dare he accuse me of fear? My finger hovered above the block button for a good thirty seconds before I calmed down.

  “I’m not afraid of anything, Huck.” My fingers typed quickly, making smudges against the glass of the phone. “I don’t know what you expect to happen between us. I’m razed ground. No fruit will grow here.”

  It was a long while before Huck responded. I’d assumed he’d gotten the picture and moved on. I set my phone down next to me and had all but forgotten about him when the blue screen lit up with his response: “Even in the desert, fruit grows.”

  It was only eight at night, but it felt like three in the morning. I was exhausted from the previous day. Exhausted from that day. Exhausted from all the days, really. Still, I felt cooped up. I felt like I was going insane, and I wasn’t the only one. Raskol was growing tired of the apartment, opting to chew the couch to allay his boredom. I watched him through sad eyes; it wasn’t his fault his owner was a basket case.

  When I was in high school there was a spot called “The Beach”. It was named that because when you turned your head upside down at night, the city lights looked like the twinkling ocean waters crashing on the shore. It wasn’t too far away from where I lived now, only a ten-minute drive. That night, The Beach called to me.

  I wanted to forget everything that had happened to me after high school. I wanted to go back to the time when I drove with my friends up to that point on the mountain. When we got out of our cars and turned our heads upside down like that was the only thing that would ever turn upside down for us.

  Grabbing Raskolnikov, I walked out of the apartment to go to The Beach. I gave a quick glance to a black car parked opposite my street. I couldn’t see who was inside, but it didn’t fit in my neighborhood. It was much too nice. Post-rape Nami wanted to investigate. She wanted to go inside and grab her gun, march up to the car, and demand whoever was inside make themselves known. Tonight wasn’t about that, though. Tonight was about forgetting. Shaking the car out of my head, I jumped in my own and headed to The Beach.

  I rolled down the window for Raskol even though it was December and freezing. He loved sticking his head out the window and I loved watching him. Raskol was the only good thing to come out of all the shit. He was entirely guileless and full of love.

  It sounded crazy, but some days I was glad for the rape, because it had brought me Raskol. The days when it was just him and me on the couch were some of the best of my life. Because I’d grown up without pets, I’d never understood the connection people had to dogs before, but now I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He held a piece of my soul.

  Raskol was never a part of the plan. I’d driven past the humane society and stopped on a whim. I’d gone inside, not sure what I was doing there. It was full of people gleefully picking out companions, and then there was me: a broken girl unsure of her next move. Raskol was all alone, unlike the other dogs. When I asked the volunteer why he was alone, she said it was because he was afraid. He didn’t do well with people or animals.

  “I’m afraid he might never find a forever home,” she’d said. That was all I needed to hear. Raskol and I had been inseparable ever since.

  Checking my rearview mirror, I turned down the street that led to The Beach. When I looked in the mirror, I saw what appeared to be the same car that had been parked on my street. I tried to get a better look but it switched lanes and drove quickly past me. I should have turned around and gone home, I know. After the past months, I’d learned that nothing was a coincidence. Still, the part of me that had decided to go to The Beach wouldn’t allow it. I needed one night to be normal. One night to shed the armor random black cars had made me build.

  I rolled up the window as I reached the turnoff for The Beach. Nestled right off a small highway, The Beach was only known to those who lived in the immediate area. You could live in Salt Lake City your entire life and still not know of The Beach. Even though it led to a much bigger hiking trail, most used a different trailhead to hike that specific trail, giving The Beach that secret feeli
ng.

  Notwithstanding, The Beach was usually crowded with teens looking to party or make out. Luckily it was December so only a few kids wanted to make out beneath a snowy, frigid mountain, and those teens stayed in the warmth of their cars. I watched the view from my own car, looking out at the city that had tortured me for the past six months. I could see the capitol all lit up in the distance. I could see the university I’d dropped out of. I saw our tiny downtown and beyond that I saw twinkling lights; one of those lights was the mansion our perfect senator lived in.

  Sighing, I grabbed Raskol and exited the car. We may have been able to pretend the lights were a twinkling ocean in high school, but now that I knew what each individual light represented, it was impossible. I was there, though. I was determined to make some kind of positive memory.

  Before leaving the house I’d grabbed Raskol’s coat (yep, I was now the kind of person who bought small dog coats) and my hiking boots. I thought maybe if I climbed the small mountain, I could feel like I’d conquered the damn lights.

  I let Raskol attempt the mountain. It was snowy and wet, but he loved the snow. His little paws slipped around, but he could climb it. I hadn’t gone on many hikes lately (not much time to do that when you’re trying to bring down a senator), but the ones I had gone on, I brought Raskol with me. I always got curious stares or smiles from the other hikers. Raskol was very small, especially in comparison to the other dogs. Some even commented on his ability to hike. If you knew Raskol, though, you knew a six-mile hike was nothing for him. He had seemingly endless energy.

  We made it to the top of the mountain and the lights were smaller up there, making it easier to pretend I didn’t know what they were. Snow started to fall, just a light dusting of flakes that was eerily beautiful. Raskol bounced around, trying to eat the falling snow. I laughed, feeling carefree and joyful as I watched him.

  I bent over and balled up some snow, ready to throw it for him to catch. As I stood up, angling my arm for the throw, my fingers grew limp. Dismay rippled through me and the ball fell from my grasp. I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but it was impossible to deny. Becca Riley was there and she held Raskol by the scruff.

  I watched Becca, unable to move or speak. My thoughts flicked back to the black car. I knew I should have left. I knew I shouldn’t have risked it. I had been so determined to have a normal night, so determined to let my shit go for a few hours, that I hadn’t heard her approaching. I had thought I was safe. I was never safe, though, and now neither was Raskol.

  Riley dangled Raskol over the edge of the mountain. The worst part was that Raskol had no idea what was going on. He watched me, that stupid silly grin I loved so much on his face. He thought Riley was playing with him. He thought he was safe.

  And why wouldn’t he? He trusted me completely. Raskol trusted me not to put him in this kind of situation, and I’d utterly failed him.

  “Riley, whatever you want I’ll do it!” I pleaded. “He’s just a dog.” What the fuck is wrong with you? I wanted to scream. Who hurts a dog?

  Riley rolled her eyes at me, as if my emotions were tedious. “Here’s the deal, DeGrace. You stop fucking with us, and this dog is the only thing that gets hurt.” Riley looked at Raskol sideways. Raskol attempted to lick her. Inside, my soul died a little more.

  “I’ll stop, dammit!” I screamed. Distantly I wondered if the sound I heard was my own echo, or that of my world collapsing. “Just let him go!”

  Riley shrugged. “As you wish.”

  Horrorstruck, I watched as Riley let Raskol go over the edge of the mountain. One second she was holding him, the next he disappeared over the side. I couldn’t begin to describe the emotion that tore through me in that instant. I knew I screamed, because the pain in my throat was so intense it broke through the disbelief.

  I fell to the ground, the weight of the emotion too heavy. I barely felt the cold, wet snow seep through my clothes as I scrambled to the edge of the mountain, reaching for Raskol. I desperately clawed at the edge for him, hoping he was there. I called his name. I called it again, expecting him to show up, to come running after me like he usually did.

  Where was his goofy face? Where was that ridiculous underbite? Through all the turmoil I heard one thing: laughing. Riley was fucking laughing. I stood from the cliff, rage coursing through me. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the ledge.

  “You think this is fucking funny?” Her smile slid from her face like a wet slug. Her heels slipped on the edge, sending rocks tumbling down. “Tell me what’s so fucking funny, Becca?”

  “Calm down, Nami.” Becca’s eyes darted from me and to the cliff I precariously held her to. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said, pushing her closer to the edge. “I’m getting rid of the infection in this town. Cut off the necrotizing flesh and eventually it goes away. Maybe I should start with you.” I shook her and more rocks tumbled down. Nausea crept up my throat at the thought that Raskol had tumbled down with them.

  Riley swallowed. The laughter in her eyes vanished and was replaced with fear. I didn’t feel victorious like I had thought I would. I didn’t feel joy or relief or anything. I felt pain for Raskol and when she looked at me with fear, I saw myself. I saw myself beneath Morris, utterly terror struck.

  Still furious, I let her go.

  “Go home, you necrotic cunt.” Riley didn’t wait for me to say it twice. She scrambled away and I heard a car sound seconds later.

  Everything was numb. Some of that had to do with the fact that I was now on the ground with snow seeping through my clothes and turning my skin frozen, but most of it had to do with my emotional grid. I had short-circuited.

  I stared out at the city that had taken everything from me. The lights twinkled beautifully, but all I saw was necrosis. I officially had nothing left.

  Monday

  There’s not enough whiskey in the world.

  Tuesday

  All out of alcohol.

  Wednesday

  Found some beer in the back of the fridge. Smells funny but it will have to do. Tuesday was miserable. Without alcohol I was up all night thinking of Raskol. The image of his dorky, happy face falling to its death…

  I opened the first can of beer.

  Thursday

  10:00 pm and I’ve stopped throwing up skunked beer. Probably because I ran out of stuff to throw up. It was a nice distraction.

  Friday

  The ass-print on my couch officially has its own area code.

  Saturday

  Out of alcohol again. Out of vomit. Either going to sink into my couch and become one through symbiosis, or get even.

  I opened up the planner I’d stolen from Riley’s. It had been exactly a week since I’d taken it. The odds of it still being accurate were slim, but it was all I had.

  According to the planner, the next day Morris would be at the continental breakfast at a downtown hotel. I shut the book with a new, blacker determination on my mind

  Raskol, my rape—it couldn’t all be in vain.

  Mitch Morris needed to die.

  The thought was crystal clear as I watched him across the street, eating Sunday brunch as if it was any other day. I supposed to him it was any other day, though. He wasn’t battling with crushing grief. His psyche wasn’t sinking into charcoal. He was just eating his goddamn eggs and sausage.

  Every Sunday Morris ate brunch with his family. Sunday he took off, because it was the Lord’s day. His election offices were closed, or at least that’s what Morris led you to believe. Morris closed the office on Sunday because he liked to make a show of taking the Lord’s day off. In reality his PR team was always working and so was Becca Riley.

  My fingers inadvertently twitched the trigger of my gun at the thought of Riley. I used to think my mission would be complete once Morris was ruined, but now I wasn’t so sure. Morris truly was Hydra. Cut off one head, and another emerged. I glared at him as he shoveled eggs
into his mouth. Once he was dead, I would have to cauterize Becca Riley.

  Perhaps it wasn’t the most compassionate thing in the world to kill a man in front of his children and wife, but I was through with compassion. I was through with caring. I knew I needed to end this man before his dry rot spread beyond Utah. He was like a fungus that spread with wind; if I didn’t stop him now, he would infect everything.

  Raskolnikov was the straw that lit my haystack on fire. I wasn’t going to spend any more time attempting to frame a man as vile as Morris. The most compassionate thing I could do for Salt Lake City was end Morris.

  I watched him eat brunch, laughing with his wife and children as he made the salt and pepper dance. Morris had no idea that one building over his forgotten regret sat lurking, waiting. I felt like the nameless shooter perched behind the grassy knoll. In my darkest dreams, assassination had never crossed my mind, yet there I was with my self-defense gun, aiming it at the head of Morris.

  Life really had been turned upside down.

  Just as I was about to pull the trigger, a creeping sensation spilled down my spine. I didn’t have to turn around to know I wasn’t alone. I could feel it by the hairs standing on end and by the way every sound suddenly dimmed to nothing.

  I was caught.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Law roared, pulling me from the window of the abandoned storefront and throwing me against the decayed walls. Bits of the tiled roof fell on my head on impact.

  “None of your business.” I pulled my arm from Law’s grasp, rounding on him before he could respond. “How the hell did you even find me?”

  “Why won’t you let me help you?” Law grabbed both my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes.