Bottled Abyss

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  The ultrasound program loaded up. Vincent applied the settings and hoped the thing didn’t crap out on him again. He took a tube of water-based gel and layered the transducer probe. Carlos sat on the couch, spread out his hairy legs to get comfortable and watched as Vincent set the probe against the bag. The whirring sound crackled loudly and he adjusted the computer’s speakers.

  Despite the untimely intrusion, Vincent sort of enjoyed this kind of shit. He searched the gray, white, black images of stacked money. The dye packs were typically near the top and he’d noticed the banks hid many in the upper left corner. Many, not all. He wasn’t seeing anything here. Come on, where are you, little baby ink bomb?

  “So you hear about your daycare instructor?” Carlos asked. “Crazy shit there.”

  “What about?” Vincent pulled off the probe and lubed it again.

  “Mrs. Horrace was killed at her house.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t read the whole article. Said she died in her bathroom of mysterious causes.”

  Vincent froze. “No shit?”

  “I’ll email you the article.”

  With a shrug, Vincent reapplied the probe. “That’s suiting. Probably died taking a big shit. Good riddance.” He moved the probe in circles, thinking he might have spotted the trigger.

  “I didn’t expect you to be all heart.”

  “I’ll give Horrace this, she moves pretty fast when a car’s coming at her.”

  “Ah, see— Josue told me that was an accident, the whole day care thing.”

  “Josue’s a good guy.”

  “He was covering for you then.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” said Vincent.

  “That was a retarded move. You should have just let your thing with Horrace go.”

  Vincent paused, not sure how to respond, whether to be angry or retrospective. He decided on neither. “I was going for bonus points.”

  Carlos’s face went grim. “You would have totaled that car if you hit her.”

  “And did that happen?” Vincent sneered at the stupid jackass before him. “No, a damn little girl was behind Horrace. I wasn’t trying to hit either of them. It happened. It sucked. I am a richer, wiser man for it.”

  “Hey, I’m just bringing this up because I hope you worked out whatever shit you had to work out. Some over in Highland-8 think you’re a little blood thirsty. Arturo thinks you did the girl on purpose.”

  “Art’s a fuckhead. I got no use for that guy and I’m gonna tell him soon.”

  Carlos straightened, at once seeming to regret bringing any of this up.

  The trigger mechanism for the bomb came into view. Upper middle stack. Vincent slid a switch blade from his back pocket. “I told you never to take a bag from a vault. You should have stuffed your own fucking bag.”

  “It was tense that day.”

  “You’re a pussy.” Vincent turned the bag on its side and ripped the blade through a line of stitches at the bottom. The bottom dropped out and several cash bundles fell to the floor. He flipped the bag upside down and methodically took the other bundles. “You’re lucky they didn’t trigger this thing remotely, or after a distance was reached.”

  “I did my research,” mumbled Carlos.

  Vincent looked over his shoulder to his book shelf. He pointed. “Bottom shelf. Give me those fakes.”

  Carlos pushed up from the couch and went to grab the clear bag full of what looked like cash. After he handed them over, Vincent carefully loaded the bank bag with dummies, and then sealed the bottom with Gorilla glue.

  “Nice and neat. Want to do the honors?”

  Carlos shook his head.

  Vincent unzipped the bag and stuck his switch blade under the bundle with the ink bomb beneath. A loud pop came from inside and a bright purple dye welled from underneath, saturating the fake bills.

  Looking inside, “Beautiful,” Carlos remarked dryly.

  Vincent nodded. “Drop that off in Adelanto. In a dumpster behind a convenience store or something. Borrow your girl’s car.”

  “Adelanto’s way the fuck out in the desert.”

  “It sure is.”

  “That’s a lot of gas money to blow.”

  “Every false door we open is another the cops have to close. This isn’t a flight of fancy. We’re serial bank robbers here. Don’t get all cocksure on me.”

  “Me? Hey, I didn’t try to run down my old teacher just two blocks away from a job, and I sure as hell didn’t crash Josue into that utility pole. If anybody deserves to be—”

  Vincent seized Carlos by the neck and slammed him down on the coffee table. Carlos gasped out hoarsely in alarm and stacks of real money parted and spilled off the sides of the table. Carlos grabbed Vincent’s arm and tried to break his grip. Still with a wet dollop of purple dye on its point, Vincent rested the switch blade at the corner of Carlos’s left eye. The man froze.

  “Do you enjoy the money you make with me, Carl?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Then understand something now. You aren’t Josue. We aren’t friends. We aren’t partners. We aren’t on the level. You surely aren’t my equal. I’m better than you. Body and soul. So listen, because I’m only going to explain this one time: I’m not bloodthirsty. I’m not fond of the work that goes into disposing of human bodies. In fact, I kind of, sort of, fucking hate getting to that point. But if you don’t want to end up in the pork aisle in a local Mexican meat market, you better start acting like the lowly employee you are.”

  Vincent twisted the knife a bit and a tendril of blood crept from Carlos’s eye, mixing with the purple dye, making an onyx tear. “I don’t get off on this, by the way.”

  “Bunch of shit…”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “You’re full of shit—you ain’t doing nothin’ to me. Stop bullshitting.”

  Slowly, Vincent relaxed his hold and removed the blade. “Very well,” he said. “That’s good. You can call a bluff. That’s something I need still.”

  Carlos glared at him, his mouth hanging in disgust.

  “You should know,” Vincent pointed out, “that seldom do people bluff twice in a row.”

  Carlos rubbed the blood off his upper lip. “You need to get out of this apartment, Vincent. You’re cracking up in here.”

  Vincent retracted the blade down and shrugged. “You could be right. Now take this bag and your cut and get the fuck out of my vision.”

  Carlos did just that. Five minutes later, there was a nice stack of lovely green backs on Vincent’s coffee table and he could enjoy them in peaceful silence.

  The whore groaned in the other room.

  Relative peaceful silence.

  Vincent went back to his computer to check the local news about Mrs. Horrace. As far as he was concerned, it was the end of an era. His eyes misted, despite his contradicting emotions. He rubbed them raw until they burned with pain, rather than regret.

  Mrs. Horrace had taught him so much, even though he loathed her like a brilliant slave loathed its ignorant master. Vincent’s foster parents had insisted he go to the Horrace daycare all the way through sophomore year in high school, and why Vincent hadn’t tried to kill her back then, he’d never been able to sort out. Perhaps she defined his misery and he couldn’t live without it to drive him.

  Expelled from school for stealing five kids’ lunch money in one day. Ah, Vince, it takes a certain type of stupid to reach for the heights you’re after. Lordy, what a dolt you are. What an absolute, thick-headed, dunce. You’re headed for McDonald’s aren’t you? Extra cheese please. Don’t burn your fingers on the hot oil. I like my fries crunchy. Oh and clean up the bathroom, Mr. Janitor. Someone pooped on the floor. Perhaps this is all too generous. Maybe I’ll flip a quarter into your tin can while you’re begging for money under the freeway. Go sit on the time-out wall, you sorry little loser.

  No, Vincent could live without her taunting and tearing him down every day. He had really enjoyed her medieval mythology books and play
ing her piano, though. All his pleasant daydreaming had kept him alive in those times. It beat the hell out of hanging out in his foster parent’s cigarette cloud they called a home.

  Vincent swept through rows of articles. He saw a name tagged on one of the articles: Josue Ramirez.

  He clicked it. Miracles and Mysteries at Loma Linda.

  “Five children with terminal illnesses have made a startling recovery…” he read. “Good for them.”

  Vincent skimmed to find the part about Josue. “The same day, authorities are investigating the shooting death of a man accused of several bank heists throughout the Inland Empire. The department has found no trace of the bullet that killed Josue Eduardo Ramirez, thinking the round somehow shattered and volatized inside his cranium, an occurrence that would have to be a miracle of physics all on its own.”

  Somebody shot Josue and took the bullet with them? Holy shit. This might have been payback from an insider who didn’t relish Josue being left alive to give up his associates, and that Vincent hadn’t been a part of this job made it clear he was on that same radar too.

  “Son of a bitch,” he uttered and glanced up at Donald Trump. “I guess Carlos was right. It is about time I leave this apartment.”

  In the other room the whore groaned again, as though agreeing.

  5

  Janet heard Faye and Evan coming up the stairs outside the hotel room. Evan’s booming voice gave them away. It was far sooner than Janet wanted to deal with them, the ordeal at the hospital still fresh on her nerves, but the box of ashes from the mortuary needed removal from her small hotel room; it was already too crowded here with her and a Border Collie to introduce Herman’s ghost to the mix.

  Janet had picked up the ashes first thing after word from the mortuary. Compared to the exhilaration of the hospital, the trip had been like a grocery store run for pancake mix. The box, and its contents, were not her husband. It was far too light and far too square to even think about him as she drove, the box resting on the seat near the bottle and coin purse, a regular witch’s alchemy set.

  Once Janet brought the ashes into the room it became immediately apparent what she needed to do, but she couldn’t do it alone. Seeing that gray dust and bone chips…that would be impossible right now, and yet she knew it had to be done soon, so she could move on to Vincent Baker.

  That night she reconsidered her decision… Herman was here. Herman was with her. She held the box in bed, bent over it, weeping. I’m so horrible, Herman. Oh God I loved you so much. Don’t be gone… Come back. I’m so awful… It shouldn’t be you. It should be me. Please forgive me, Herman. Can you? Please… Please don’t be gone. Come back. Come back.

  She got no sleep and started envisioning horrible scenarios of Vincent Baker disappearing before she ever found him.

  That was it. She had to get through this. She had to scatter the ashes.

  Not expecting much, she called Faye and was relieved her friend had softened her feelings about what happened. In fact, when it came to helping with Herman, she acted much like the old Faye that Janet knew and loved.

  Faye had read the papers about Josue Ramirez and the miraculous curing of the children. “That was you, wasn’t it? And that bottle…it really does work the way you said?”

  Janet explained again how she understood the bottle’s power, including the literal price to be paid as a result. Faye only listened, rapt with awe.

  It was misty outside when she opened the hotel room door. Lester came over at once to greet the two people he recognized. Evan bent down and scratched him under the ears. Faye, wearing a smart black overcoat, glided past and wrapped her arms around Janet. Her hug was weak, but it didn’t seem from lack of trying. Faye’s face was stricken. She looked unwell.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  Faye half smiled. “I have a doctor’s appointment today. There’s some cramping. Not much, but the OBGYN wants to be sure the baby’s okay.”

  “When did this start happening?”

  Faye now petted Lester. “After.”

  She wore a turtleneck sweater, an article of clothing Janet had never seen her friend wear before. The marks from the Fury’s invisible rope must have cut deep.

  Evan shook his keys inside the pockets of his black slacks. “Are we ready to head out?”

  Janet collected her jacket and the box of ashes. She went outside, hugging it close to her chest. As she pulled the door closed, Lester watched her go, his head tilted, eyes wondrous and sad.

  The drive to Greenhill Pond was a lengthy maze of alien streets and suspect roads. Janet recalled nothing from her past trips to the park and the ride seemed to drag on forever. Contrast to that, the déjà vu walk across the familiar soccer fields, past the small duck pond and out to the larger pond felt like a heartbeat. Suddenly they were standing before the lake and Evan had the box opened, the bag of ashes out. Janet didn’t want to look at it, but caught herself doing so every now and then. She told her friends to say their goodbyes before her and Evan had been talking into the ashes, but mostly Janet hadn’t tuned into what was being said until now.

  “Mostly I feel like I let you down, buddy. That day you were gone… I looked everywhere. Lester got out of the gate and ran into the badlands. I was so worried about you I didn’t bother going after him. I should have followed…he must have known that’s where you’d gone.”

  Big tears sat in Evan’s eyes and looked about to fall onto the lenses of his eyeglasses. Slowly he handed the box to Faye, who accepted its weight with a timid gesture.

  “You always made me laugh, He-Man. I’ll remember the way you played with Melody, the way you sang to her, and I…” Faye choked up a little and Evan patted her shoulder. “And I…just thought you were an amazing father and husband, a good person. It isn’t fair what happened to you, but you’re together with Melody now, in Heaven, with God, where you certainly belong… Sorry, I’m not good at speeches.”

  With trembling hands, Faye passed the box to Janet and then clutched her tightly around the arm. Janet peered into the pebbly mix, thinking of a beach with a shoreline similar to this blend. She glanced up and a mallard duck glided across the pond to become a phantom shape under the shade of a weeping willow tree.

  This again. I’m standing here, saying goodbye to somebody. This can’t really be happening.

  “You knew I loved you, Herman,” Janet began. “So I don’t want to go on about all that… We weren’t perfect. We both made mistakes. I forgive you for yours and I hope you forgave me for mine… I thought our lives would just keep going on as usual, that Melody would grow up and we’d grow old together... now there’s nothing left.”

  Faye leaned her head against Janet’s shoulder.

  “What’s done is done, Herman,” Janet went on. “I just want you to know that I’ve found the man who caused this, his name is Vincent Baker.”

  Faye looked up at Janet. Evan stared at her intently.

  “I know where Baker lives, and tonight, hopefully, if he’s still there… I’m going to give him an execution like no other murderer has ever received. I have five coins waiting for him and I’m going to see what happens. I hope he feels each one. I hope he dies and comes back just to die again.” She let out a soft, crazy sounding laugh. “He’s going to suffer, no matter what, and I’m going to enjoy it, for us both.”

  “Babe—” Faye tried to handle her, but Janet politely ignored her attempt.

  Janet lifted out the bag, took a knee in the grass and dumped the contents into the green water. Micro-bubbles fizzled around it and dust swirled over an errant current of wind. She watched the contents partially sink at first, in clumps that looked like small drowning continents, and then as individual pieces that colored over with the dingy water.

  “You need to tell the police,” Evan advised her.

  “Even if they give him the death sentence, that’s an entire lifetime of knowing Baker got away with it,” said Faye, her look distant.

  “Faye?” Evan raised his e
yebrow.

  “What does it matter, Evan? Janet can use the bottle and the coins to do good things.”

  “This isn’t what I’d call a good thing.”

  “You can help her, Evan. Go with her tonight.”

  “No, wait a minute!” He held up his hands. “I don’t want to be around that, that, that monster thing again. Holy Christ, Faye, are you serious?”

  Janet watched a trio of ducks emerge from the weeping willow shadows.

  “Don’t you love Janet?” Faye asked him.

  Skin going from pale to bloodless, Evan’s eyes darted between the two women. The question had made a major impact on him and it was uncomfortable to see how long he toiled with it. “Well I—she’s a good friend and if I—that is—”

  Faye’s back straightened. “If we all want to start over, this is the way. Everything points back to this man. He ruined all of our lives. He’s the one who flicked the first domino.”

  “So Janet murders him? That’s your answer.”

  “She’s just giving him a handful of coins. It’s not the same at all.”

  “I agree,” said Janet, feeling warm inside for the first time in a long time. She took Faye’s hand.

  “If you care about our lives Evan, you’ll do this,” Faye told him.

  Evan’s lips pressed together in an unattractive, pale line. He stood there, under their scrutiny and made no move. His mouth opened a few times before he could get his lips around the words.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be part of this.”

  “Fine then,” Faye sighed.

  “I mean us, Faye… I don’t want to be married to you anymore.”

  “What?” she said, wagging her head. “Where in the hell did this come from?”

  “I didn’t know if I could say it, but being here… saying goodbye to Herman and then you asking about Janet. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”

  Janet tugged on Faye. “Let’s just go call a cab. Let him get through whatever stupid shit he’s going through—”