The Guilt We Carry

by Samuel W. Gailey

  Alice stared at the cuts on her palms, watched the rain wash some of the blood away, and she began to cry. She cried from the pain and the cold. She cried from missing her home and parents and her friends, from knowing that she’d never see any of them ever again. She cried because she was scared and alone and didn’t know where she was going to go. She cried because everything that she’d become and wanted to be was over—her life died in that dryer that day, too. But most of all, she cried for Jason.

  The rain didn’t let up. It continued to fall, beating against the pavement and the metal sides of the dumpster, drowning out Alice’s chest-pounding sobs. She slid down on her side, curled into a tighter ball, and let it all pour out of her until her body couldn’t bear anymore, and finally somehow gave in to sleep.

  * * *

  Alice’s temporary escape from reality was interrupted by the sensation of something tiny, but quick crawling across her legs. A little poke, poke, poke. She jerked awake and noticed a thin brown tail disappear under the dumpster.

  Before Alice could even let out a scream into the slow falling drizzle, an intense beam of light flashed on her face from the edge of the dumpster.

  “Just what the hell are you doing back there, little lady?”

  She could tell by the nasal twang that the voice came from an older man, phlegm clicking in his throat.

  “Well, don’t just sit there gawking at me. Get yourself out of there,” the man snapped.

  Alice lifted her hand to shield her face so she could get a look at the stranger, but the light stayed right on her, unwavering.

  “Don’t make me yank you out of there. I’m too damn old for that kind of nonsense.”

  Alice thought about crawling out the other side of the dumpster, leaving her backpack behind, and running off into the night until she was far away from this town and the stranger holding the flashlight.

  “I’m getting pretty damn soaked here. Come on, now.”

  Alice finally pushed her way out from behind the dumpster, dragging her backpack along with her.

  “Well, what do we got here?” The light clicked off and Alice stared up at the stranger. Sixty-five years old, maybe older. Thick around the waist, and most of the hair on the top of his head long gone. He wore a pair of reading glasses with a little silver chain that wrapped around his neck. He stood dressed in an olive-green coverall suit with a white patch over the right breast that said ELTON.

  “I’d have to say that you’re about the biggest rat I ever did catch.” The man grinned at Alice, took off his glasses, revealing a set of light blue eyes that were almost white, and soft red cheeks starting to sag south. “Just what the hell you doing back behind there, kiddo?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” He stuffed the flashlight in his back pocket. “Now why would you be doing nothing back behind a dumpster this time of night, and in the middle of a rainstorm?”

  Alice shrugged.

  The man clutched a black plastic box with a hole on one side in his left hand. When he set it down on the ground, something shifted inside the box. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

  Alice didn’t answer his question. She stared past him toward a white pickup truck that idled behind him. On the side of the truck’s driver’s-side door, black lettering spelled out PARSON’S PEST CONTROL.

  “You got a tongue inside that chattering mouth of yours or not?” he asked.

  Alice nodded.

  “Well?”

  “Alice.”

  “Alice, huh? Tell me something, Alice in Wonderland, you like rats?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, you picked the exact wrong spot to take yourself a nap. Rats like dumpsters to eat in and old tires to nest in.”

  Alice took an automatic step away from both the dumpster and stack of tires.

  The man let out a little chuckle and snorted through a bulbous cartoon nose. “You don’t live here in Shallotte, do you, Alice?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. I know damn near everyone here in town, which is kind of unfortunate.”

  The rain started to fall a little harder again. Picking up speed and dancing down on top of both of them.

  “You gonna tell me exactly why a young gal like yourself is hiding back here behind Lucy’s?”

  Alice shook her head.

  “I figured as much.” He put his reading glasses back on. “I tell you what, Alice. I’m gonna go collect a few more of these here rat traps. Shouldn’t take much more than five or ten minutes. I don’t know nothing about runaway teenagers, but if you want to get yourself dry and something to eat other than rat pellets, you go on and climb in the passenger seat of my truck. After I’m done with what’s expected of me around here, I’m calling it a night. So, it’s up to you. If you’re in my truck when I’m done, that’s all fine and dandy. If you want to run off into the dark and rain and cold, that’s up to you as well. That make any sense?”

  Alice nodded.

  “Good.” He picked up his black box again. “Now if you decide on the latter, I’d keep clear of those woods if I was you. Coyotes tend to roam next to the river at night. Searching for food and whatnot.”

  With that being said, Elton took the flashlight out of his back pocket, flicked it on, then marched past Alice and disappeared into a wall of mist.

  Alice stood under the drizzle for a few moments, watching the spot where Elton had slipped into the darkness. She glanced toward the woods that led to the river, then back over at the old man’s truck.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  FEBRUARY 2011

  THE CHAIR HAD been precisely situated in the center of the room and Ernie sank deep into the tattered cushions like he wanted to disappear. His eyes were rimmed red, incessantly glancing toward the door, silently praying that someone, anyone, would come to his rescue. But that wasn’t going to happen. The maids were gone for the day, and even if they weren’t, they probably wouldn’t lift a finger to help him. He was both disliked and ignored by those around him—it’s the way it had always been for Ernie.

  Phillip stood behind the assistant manager, both his massive paws resting on Ernie’s shoulders, keeping him securely in place. Sinclair stood directly in front of Ernie, smoking on yet another cigarette, staring at him, waiting.

  “I told you, I don’t know anything about Alice,” Ernie whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling.

  “Yes, you did. Repeatedly. But I think that you do. You merely need assistance—a little nudge—in dislodging pertinent information.”

  Ernie wiped at his nose and his eyes kept darting toward the motel door. “Why are you doing this? It’s not right. What you’re doing is scaring me.”

  “Not quite, Ernie. What you’re experiencing is anxiety. Like William Barrett once said, ‘Anxiety is not fear, being afraid of this or that definite object, but the uncanny feeling of being afraid of nothing at all. It is precisely nothingness that makes itself present and felt as the object of our dread.’”

  Ernie stared at Sinclair, his face blank and unresponsive.

  “I take it that you do not know who William Barrett is?”

  Ernie shook his head, his eyes watering up.

  Sinclair sighed, woefully resigned. “Does no one visit the library anymore?” He inhaled deeply on his Salem. “You are here, Ernie, as it appears to be the only means to extricate the information you have about Alice.”

  “But I don’t know nothing.”

  “Don’t know anything,” Sinclair corrected. “Your grammar is appalling.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t know anything.”

  “You have stated that repeatedly, and if that truly is the case, then I will apologize to you with all due sincerity after our conversation and send you on your way.”

  Sinclair drew on his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke. “So, then, think deep and hard. This is your moment to shine. To impress me, rather than to disappoint. What else can you tell me about our friend Alice?”

  When
Ernie squirmed and tried to stand up, Phillip applied pressure on his shoulders and neck. He settled back into the chair, albeit reluctantly. “Like what?”

  “Tell me what you know about her, Ernie. Little things. Start with that, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

  “Well. She’s pretty. Not like a model or anything, but she’s pretty.”

  “Okay. Keep going.”

  “Kinda keeps to herself, but seems nice enough. Doesn’t talk much.”

  “Right. That’s vague. Not helpful,” Sinclair said.

  “I guess I just don’t know much about Alice. Not really. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Ernie. It shows weakness.”

  “Sorry. I really am. I just want to go. Can I go?”

  “How long have you known Alice?”

  “Five or six months, I guess.”

  “Uh-huh. And did you ever have relations with Alice?”

  “Relations? What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean, Ernie.”

  “No. Nothing like that. We talked. That’s about it.”

  “Okay. Just friendly encounters then?”

  “I guess.”

  “And do you like her, Ernie? Are you keen on Alice?”

  Ernie fidgeted in the chair. His face reddened a bit.

  “You are. You like this girl.”

  Ernie shrugged. “Well. Like I said, she’s nice. But I don’t think she likes me. Not in that kind of way.”

  “You never know, Ernie. Women are a funny bunch.”

  “I guess.” But Ernie didn’t seem altogether convinced.

  “What else can you tell me? Did Alice talk about friends, where she comes from, things of that nature?”

  “She didn’t exactly talk a lot. You know? Just kinda came and went. Paid cash for the room every day. Worked at the Frisky Pony.”

  “Surely she must have told you something that might provide some manner of insight about who she is,” Sinclair coaxed.

  Ernie gave this some thought, trying to replay their conversations over in his mind. “I think she said she used to live in South Carolina. Or maybe it was North Carolina. One of the Carolinas. I always get them mixed up.”

  “Okay. That’s something. A start, if you will. Do you recall where in the Carolinas perhaps? A city name?”

  “I think it was near a beach because I think I remember her telling me she hates the sand. Kinda funny, huh? Living near the beach and hating the sand.”

  “Yes. Very funny,” Sinclair said without a hint of a smile. “Did Alice ever bring friends back to the motel? A boyfriend maybe?”

  “No. Never. Not that I saw anyways.”

  Sinclair took another hard pull on his cigarette. “My patience is growing precariously thin, Ernie. It truly is. I suggest you tell me something of value, or circumstances could really go south on us from here.”

  Ernie could feel Phillip increase the pressure on his neck and shoulders. “She said she was going to see a friend in Allentown for a few days. Remember? That’s what she told me. Maybe you should look there.”

  Sinclair shook his head. “No. That was a lie.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I do business with liars every single day.”

  Ernie looked down at his hands and wanted desperately to chew on his fingernails. “What are you going to do to Alice when you find her? After you get your money back?”

  “You needn’t concern yourself with that matter, Ernie. All you need to know is that Alice will be better off after she returns my property.”

  “Okay. But, like, will she be in trouble or go to jail?”

  “I think that perhaps we are done here.” Sinclair glanced toward Phillip. Gave the big man a slight tilt of his head.

  Ernie’s eyes suddenly widened and he licked at his lips. “Oh, yeah. Something else. Alice was driving her friend’s truck. I remember that now.”

  Sinclair pressed his hands together, as if in a moment of prayer. “Oh? Tell me about this truck, Ernie.”

  “It was a big black truck. A pickup. The kind with big tires.”

  “A Chevy perhaps? With tinted windows?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure. She said it was a friend’s.”

  Sinclair smiled. Extinguished his cigarette.

  “Can I go now? Are we finished?”

  “Yes, Ernie. We are finished with you.”

  Ernie smiled as well. A sense of relief falling over him. He didn’t see Phillip withdraw the black plastic bag from his back pocket. “Does that mean I get to keep the three hundred dollars?”

  “Of course, Ernie. A deal is a deal,” Sinclair whispered.

  Phillip pulled the plastic bag over Ernie’s head and cinched it tight. Ernie issued a muffled, startled yelp. Tried to stand but was forced back into the chair. The big man gripped the plastic bag tight around Ernie’s throat and held him down with brutal hands as the motel clerk fought and kicked and thrashed in the chair.

  Sinclair watched for a moment before lighting another cigarette, then stepped into the bathroom to relieve himself.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE BOTTLE OF Crown—Black, not Reserve—that perched within easy reach on the nightstand remained a little over half-full. Alice had hoped that catching a good buzz would allow her to forget about the situation she had gotten herself into.

  It hadn’t. Not one damn bit. She was drunk—that much had happened—but she couldn’t block out a thing, the events of the day playing over and over again in her head.

  The sound of the shower’s lousy water pressure came spitting out from the bathroom—Delilah had been in there for a half hour.

  Good. She can stay in there all night for all I care.

  Alice poured herself another drink.

  Sleep wouldn’t come. Too many scenarios kept spinning in her mind, even with the television blaring a Judge Judy rerun. Each scenario got her to one of two places—getting caught and going to prison, or winding up dead at the hands of whoever would be looking for their money. Somebody would be looking for that kind of cash. She would be traced back to the Frisky Pony and they would hunt her down.

  This is so stupid. What the hell am I thinking?

  She wasn’t. At least not much. She poured another inch of Crown into her glass.

  No one knows my last name.

  That much was true. Alice never, ever used her last name. She worked for tips and a shit hourly rate that paid under the table at the Frisky Pony—no questions asked. She always used cash when paying for motels or skid row apartments in towns that she never stayed in for long. No credit cards. Never had one. Didn’t even have a driver’s license—she left home before reaching that particular milestone. But Alice knew how to drive. Not officially through the DMV. No, Alice had learned how to drive with a girl named Candy, back when she lived in Pittsburgh for a few months and cleaned apartments for a maid service. There was something about Candy, only twenty-four and already with three kids and pregnant with the fourth, that Alice liked, even though the woman was reckless and more than a little promiscuous. Candy would do anything for money. If a male client propositioned cash in exchange for a hand job or blow job, Candy accepted whatever offer came her way. And being pregnant didn’t stop her either. Alice would keep cleaning the apartment as Candy went into the bedroom and serviced the men with her specialty—a two-fisted hand job.

  Alice never said anything about the sex, and also knew that Candy would usually steal something from each apartment they cleaned: cash, earrings, necklaces, anything she could sell for extra money.

  Despite how demeaning the job proved to be, it was actually a good time in Alice’s life, hanging out with Candy. The mother to three was the closest thing Alice had to a friend since she ran away from home. That’s what she thought, anyway. Alice learned otherwise one spring morning when she got called into the boss man’s office. The boss man, an older man in his sixties from Armenia, with a thick accent and thicker lips, informed Alice that he kne
w what she had done, and that he wouldn’t press charges if she just returned what she had stolen. Alice didn’t know what the hell he was talking about and told him just that. The boss man sighed, said that Candy told him everything, and that if Alice wouldn’t return the stolen items, then he would keep her pay for the last two weeks.

  The boss man wouldn’t accept Alice’s contention that it was Candy who stole whatever was stolen. He said that Candy was honest and would never steal a thing. The boss man also happened to be a recipient of Candy’s hand job special.

  So, that was it for Pittsburgh. If anything, she walked away having learned two things: how to drive a car and not to fool herself into thinking she could make a real friend.

  Alice drained her glass, still wishing she was drinking Crown Reserve, and finally let her eyes flutter closed. She listened as Judge Judy chastised the plaintiff for wanting to keep an engagement ring she clearly didn’t honor in light of the fact she admitted to sleeping with the defendant’s best friends—as in plural.

  Judge Judy’s voice started to drift away. Sleep so close.

  Then the shower squeaked off and Delilah stepped out of the bathroom wrapped up in a towel. The girl stood beside the bed and stared down at Alice and waited until Alice opened her eyes.

  “What?”

  “So, I was wondering. Can we talk?”

  * * *

  Just when Alice thought Delilah to be a complete wallflower—a seen-but-not-heard kind of girl—she proved her dead wrong. The big-eyed kid started yapping up a storm the second she had stepped out of the bathroom.

  Alice half-listened to bits and pieces of the girl’s story. Born and raised in southwest Philly. Never met her father. Two younger brothers—both white—from two other fathers she never met either. Bang, bang, bang. By the time her mother turned twenty, the woman had three kids. Delilah’s youngest brother, Dwayne, had Down’s syndrome and was forced to wear a bicycle helmet to protect his head. Still wore diapers at the age of eleven. “It’s one thing,” Delilah claimed, “to change a baby’s diaper, but a twelve-year-old? Phew.”