“I understand.” Officer Becca Davis made a couple more notes on the form, her bronze face focused and calculating.
Janet did not remember the woman, but that was hardly surprising. She was a fellow parent at the Horrace home childcare where Melody had gone. They had seen each other in passing when picking the kids up, but her son Jacob had only been going to the childcare a couple weeks before the tragedy, and lucky for him, he’d been punished that day and was inside writing sentences rather than playing in the front yard.
In weeks following the hit and run, Janet vaguely recalled Davis reaching out to help coordinate with the police manhunt, but they’d never taken her up on any of her offers, because whether the criminals were caught didn’t matter at the time. For her, it hurt too much to concentrate on anything except drinking, and for Herman, he dragged himself off to that volunteer job at the plant and working nights at the machine shop. When sadness finally boiled into rage, they did get involved around six weeks after the death. By then, Officer Davis was just another useless cop who couldn’t bring back Melody.
Perhaps that was unkind, but a grieving heart doesn’t have a natural capacity for kindness. Janet supposed Becca Davis was a decent woman and regretted not being friendlier with her. However, this was another bad time that had brought them together and it was easier to resent her presence than embrace it. Another tragedy. Another cop asking pointless questions. Another road of pain.
To make matters worse, a house fly kept circling around them, unseen, yet thick with buzzing. Its annoyance went deeper than distraction—it reminded Janet that it didn’t matter if she was sober now, there would still be flies, still be shit, and life would go on this way because good things didn’t happen for any other reason except to make bad ones stick out more prominently. Such a cheery life I lead…
She took a swat at the fly and Officer Davis and Faye glanced over together.
“Pesky,” Officer Davis commented and filled out some other items on the back page of her form. She pursed her lips as she scribbled. Janet noticed she had a quite daring shade of red lipstick for an authority figure. It was almost inappropriate. In her quest to find a reason not to like the woman, Janet put a check on her own form, right by low self esteem. Yet, she probably shouldn’t cast stones on that matter.
And as though reading her mind, Becca Davis lifted her stunning brown eyes and stated with alarming tranquility, “Have you ever been unfaithful to your husband?”
Faye shook her head like she’d been BB gunned between the eyes. She quickly recovered and went on defense for her Janet. “Hey excuse me, what do—?”
“Or, do you suspect he’s been unfaithful to you?” Davis added, showing no detour around this line of questioning. “It will help, of course, if we know that there are any third parties involved. I’m sorry if this is painful.”
What a bitch. Of course she wasn’t sorry.
“You think Herman ran off with someone?”
“Is that impossible? After your daughter, things have been rough.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“And there’s nobody for you, either?”
Faye gave her a sidelong look.
“I love my husband,” said Janet.
“Okay but—”
“So no, the answer is no.”
“Sorry.” Davis scrawled something else down, which Janet could imagine said, Possibly not a jealous boyfriend. “I hate to ask that question, but for Herman’s sake, I can’t afford to tap dance around anything that will get us closer to finding him.”
“That’s fine,” said Janet.
“I think this should just about do it.” Davis shuffled all the paperwork and the photos into the manila folder she brought. “I’ll stop by and get this processed before I head home.”
“Thank you so much for coming in person,” said Faye.
Yeah, thanks a heap, thought Janet.
Davis sighed through her nose, troubled about something. The fly buzzed around and she absently waved it off. “There’s another reason why I came today, besides wanting to help.”
Janet swallowed. “What about?”
“I might have an idea where Herman went, only I hope I’m wrong.”
“And you’re telling us this now?”
“I thought you’d bring it up, since it’s been all over the local news since last Friday.”
“I haven’t been watching the news. Faye?”
Faye shrugged. “We’ve been so busy with the baby and then you at the hospital and now Herman gone—I don’t think I’ve watched a minute of TV.”
“A man named Josue Ramirez was found at the scene of a car wreck just about a mile away from a bank robbery in Riverside. It was in the militant style of the serial bank robberies that have gone on for years around the Inland Empire. The driver fled the car, maybe injured, maybe not. Josue went through the wind shield. It was touch and go with him for a while, but now he’s in stable condition at Loma Linda hospital. Reporters haven’t put him together with the incident involving Melody yet, but they soon might, so don’t be surprised if you find a pushy group on your doorstep.”
“You’re not saying that this Jose—”
“Josue.”
“Well fuck him and his name,” Janet said with such an evenness Davis leaned back.
Faye reached over and touched her shoulder. “Babe, let’s just—”
“Are you done here?” Janet asked Davis.
The police officer nodded silently.
“So get out of here,” Janet whispered, “because I’m not listening to this, not with Herman not here to… know. He should be here for this moment. Here, with me.”
“Mrs. Erikson, that’s what I’m saying. Maybe Herman learned about Ramirez and he went out to do something,” Davis played with the word, “hasty. Like you said earlier, he thought you were going to die and left the hospital in a panic. Think about it. He could have been watching the news in the hospital or read a newspaper. People do drastic things when they feel they have nothing to lose.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Janet snapped.
“But,” Faye said meekly, “wouldn’t he have shown up at Loma Linda by now?”
“Ramirez is under guard at the hospital, so it’s very unlikely Herman could get at him anyway. But the news coverage has been spending more time playing up the driver as the brains behind the robberies. He’s someone the department hasn’t IDed yet. Ramirez won’t name him and nobody will talk in the neighborhood. In the past couple days since Ramirez was hospitalized, some of his family and friends have gone missing. Herman works at a machine shop in the heart of that same neighborhood in Riverside.”
“You think Herman’s out there, tying people up and forcing them to talk?” Janet laughed. “Like a vigilante?”
“Or it could be Ramirez’s accomplice making sure nobody talks. We don’t know anything for certain yet, Mrs. Erikson. And I’m really not a part of the investigation. I just know that if I were you, I’d want to consider every angle before writing your husband off.”
“Why do you even care?”
Davis took the manila folder and absently tapped it on the coffee table. “I…remember Melody. She was a sweet little girl. What happened to her shouldn’t ever be allowed to go unpunished.”
There was an awful quiet that spread through the room, all except for the fly, which Janet suddenly clapped into silence, its body dropping on Herman’s recent copy of Men’s Health.
Lester began barking as a car pulled up.
“That’s Evan.” Faye turned to Janet, her eyes pained. “I told him we could go do the baby registry today…”
“I should get going too. I’ll get this processed.” Davis stood.
Janet remained seated. “Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry if I’m not in a good mood.”
“I can’t imagine why.” Davis stuck out a hand, which Janet quickly shook. It was more feminine of a grasp than Janet might have expected for a woman who worked with so many men.
/> Janet dragged herself to the door and bid the police woman farewell. Evan was along the sidewalk, the Jeep still running while he messed with his phone. He didn’t seem to notice Davis get into her car and drive away. The day had become overcast and it sucked the color out of the world.
Faye took hold of Janet in a ferocious hug like a woman clinging to the side of a cliff. “I told him this wasn’t a good day to do this. I don’t want to go shopping.”
“But he said it would be good for you, right?”
Faye’s eyes reluctantly flowed over to Evan. “With everything we know now, maybe we should stay put.”
“No. Go. Have some fun.”
“I shouldn’t leave you alone.”
“I’m fine. Take my car keys if you want.”
“Already done.” Faye patted her pocket and the tight metallic sound of contained keys jangled.
“Remember not to get only yellow. Herman and me?”
“Yes,” Faye laughed sadly, “I remember your nursery, babe… We’ll be back as soon as I can. We’ll put our heads together about everything.”
Faye kissed her on the cheek and made swiftly for the Jeep. Janet watched her go and wondered what would happen between them as couple once she was gone. Would Evan tell Faye what had happened?
Why am I asking this, as though I still plan on dying?
An electric realization sent a thrill through Janet. Despite previous associations, her addiction and final goal hadn’t been related. She had abandoned booze, but not her plans. She recalled the raw desire with some nostalgia, as though what was destined had only been delayed for a different location.
What about the bottle, though? She couldn’t just leave it behind for Faye or Evan with a P.S. on her suicide note.
Promptly, she went to the bathroom, retrieved the bottle and brought it to the coffee table. Janet marveled at the shape, the deep black glass, and wondered if she poured some it out on her skin again if she’d cough up another coin. Was it infinite? The waters had cured her of alcoholism the first time. What would it cure the second time?
As much as she wanted to know, she decided that wasn’t for today. She couldn’t imagine having to deal with getting rid of another coin right now. Doubt still pulled at her though. What if the second coin wasn’t as repulsive as the first?
A minute trilling came from the table. On top of the Men’s Health lay the half-dead housefly, twitching this way and that way, one wing lifting on a stubborn piston, while the rest of the deformed body remained inert. Janet tilted the bottle slowly. It was so light the container felt like an extension of her arm. The brown liquid saturated the insect and sucked into it. Inky refuse jettisoned from its body and landed over the face of the magazine’s bleachy smiled cover model. As Janet watched the ink solidify into a new coin, the fly took flight with renewed vigor, crashed into a nearby window, before buzzing off to parts unknown.
It healed the fly’s injuries.
Janet leaned over the coin. Though undeniably resembling some kind of ancient currency one might find in a museum, this coin had a different impression on its face than the other had; instead of a skull, there was a tiny dot.
She went to the junk drawer and grabbed Herman’s magnifying glass, a stabbing memory surfacing of Melody running around playing with it in the mirror, watching her mouth grow comically large.
Returning to the table, she positioned the glass over the coin. The impression in the metal blossomed in size and she beheld what looked like the exoskeleton outline of the head of an insect, probably the fly’s.
Repeated attempts to penetrate the window pane had made the fly punch drunk and its flight wild. It wanted to get away from its coin, she imagined, just as much as she had from hers. She opened the window and popped the screen. The fly escaped in a blink.
The air felt good outside, and cleared her head for a moment. She stared at the coin but couldn’t decide whether to touch it. After all, it wasn’t hers. Something about the intimacy of letting her bare fingertips touch its metal seemed tantamount to sinning.
Lester was whining outside. She needed to feed and water him. It wasn’t fair how much she’d neglected him for so long. Feeling badly, she got up, went outside and filled up his bowls. Lester ate the meal with what seemed like much appreciation. She petted him on his head and stared out to the dry desert stretching into infinity. Herman wasn’t coming back. Was he?
“Evan and Faye will take good care of you, boy,” she told Lester. “They’ve always loved you. Nothing to worry about.”
The dog turned its eyes up to her. They looked too unbearably sullen to take right now, so she returned into the house. Distracting herself with the bottle was better than entertaining other thoughts. It was a resurgence of Not-Janet, because Janet Erikson would probably instead be gathering up some rope from the garage right about now.
What did this bottle do? Outside of remedy addiction and heal critically wounded houseflies? If she had encountered something truly supernatural why the hell couldn’t she pull herself out of this mortal despair? Yes, Not-Janet reflected, if Lester dug up some magic potion that could mean a whole variety things are true. Heaven. Hell. God. The Devil.
Or maybe this bottle is true and those things are not…
Perhaps every myth is just a perversion of the truth.
Why can’t you just hope Melody still exists somewhere? Not-Janet asked Janet.
She should have expected this, coming from the version of herself that put hope into other gods. Magic carpets, witches, and dragons may well exist for all Janet knew, but that didn’t mean she’d ever see Melody again.
Oh really? asked Not-Janet. What if this bottle brings the dead back to life?
Good point, thought Janet. Morbid, but good, depending if she could get Melody’s remaining ashes from the mausoleum. The rest were one with Greenhill pond.
First things first though. She went to the master closet and got her grandmother’s empty coin purse from the jewelry chest. Back at the table, she tilted the magazine and allowed the coin to slide into the purse. There. It wasn’t hers to touch, so she wouldn’t.
That done, she took a limp looking white rose from the assorted bouquet Sam had brought. The flower was technically dead, and wasn’t much of a test subject, but what the hell? Fight crazy with crazy, right? She would have been astonished if the flower sprouted up, renewed and burst forth another coin, but it could be no less odd than everything she’d see so far.
Janet put the long stem down into the bottle and watched the flower intently.
For five minutes.
She pulled it out and set the unchanged flower on the coffee table. A new idea struck her and she grabbed the bottle and headed for the front yard. The sidewalk always had at least one or two snail fatalities, and this day was no different. Right near the first step to the porch a rather large snail had been smashed into a gushy, fibrous pile. It looked several days dead, if not an entire week.
Janet administered some of the bottle’s water on the corpse.
The fluid ebbed out around the snail, like searching fingers, then thinned to a transparent color that spread over the sidewalk until it vanished. She examined the dead snail for several minutes, wondering if the dead took longer to revive. Nothing was happening though. With a knowing sigh, she corked the bottle.
She retreated back indoors.
Not even magic changes death. See what I mean about the universe? she told Not-Janet.
But her other half didn’t answer, and Janet knew then she’d never hear from the likes of her again. Not-Janet was dead. And the dead stayed dead.
9
Unconsciously, she’d been preparing for this day. Janet imagined she’d lose her mind on her little girl’s birthday, but that day had come and gone. It wasn’t as painful when you were passed out drunk with no husband around to toll that ghastly bell. Janet had created a life and it was taken away. She accepted this with surprising ease; the birthday really didn’t mean anything anymore. You don’t
recall the first moment of marveling at your sandcastle, you remember when the sea brings its turrets crashing down and all that was once beautiful is erased.
That’s the moment Janet clung to.
Not the birthday.
The deathday.
And the staleness of the house, the frozen stasis of the universe, reminded her like no calendar ever could.
Janet had gone to bed in her clothes but Faye had covertly changed her black sweat pants to a maroon pair. The busy bee had buzzed about the kitchen all morning, probably making something Janet would not want to eat.
Food wasn’t an option. Janet’s mind fixated on this day, a year ago now.
Herman had been upset with Melody’s constant fussing over getting up from bed and Janet herself was late for work. Nobody was happy that morning. Everything was tense and chaotic. The last time Janet saw Melody, she went to kiss her but the toddler resisted and turned her face away.
“Oh well fine,” she’d told the little girl with fake contempt. She’d really not had time to make a big show of it. She didn’t even give Herman her usual peck on the cheek—it was just out the door, quick, quick, quick, hurry off into the first day of oblivion.
A year later, she no longer had a daughter, had committed adultery with one of her good friends, almost died from alcohol poisoning, lost her husband somewhere, and discovered a magic bottle that, while extraordinary with healing physical trauma, did nothing to resolve the psychological.
And now another deep mental wound with an infection setting in…
The length of time without a word or sign of Herman had become out and out unreal. She’d woken in the middle of the night and had a long, tormented weeping episode about it. Something bad had happened. Even if Officer Davis’s laughable vigilante theory was true, why had Herman not called at least Evan yet?
The only thing keeping Janet breathing was the need to have one conversation she’d be putting off for a long time now. It had gone through her mind just as she was blacking out in the bathroom the night of the alcohol poisoning. It was a regret that stung even during her body’s extreme battle. Up until now, she’d never had the courage to ask for answers. Today, Melody’s deathday, made absolute sense to go get them.
Bottled Abyss Page 9