Her other brother, JJ, was only fourteen, but already running with a gang. Wearing the colors and inked up to demonstrate his loyalty. JJ dropped out of school and hung out at the basketball courts all day. He had already come home a few times with a busted lip, smashed nose, and black eyes. He told Delilah that his name wasn’t JJ anymore. Call me T-Bone, he informed her.
Delilah tried to help out the best she could around the home, taking care of Dwayne, but she had wanted to finish school and get her degree. She knew that a diploma would be her only way out. Graduating would be the one thing that might save her from ending up just like her mother. And she would have, if it hadn’t been for Leon, her mama’s newest boyfriend. Leon was nothing but white trash, just like her mama. He didn’t have a job. Said he couldn’t work because of an alleged back injury he suffered years ago, but he sure could drink—that he could do.
Leon insisted on being served hand and foot by Delilah and her mama, but her mama was too messed up most of the time to even crawl out of bed in the morning. They collected some money from the State due to Dwayne’s condition. That and the welfare. Leon had forced Delilah to quit school last fall so that she could stay home and take care of Dwayne full-time. Delilah stood up to him for the first time. Told him that he wasn’t her father and that she was staying in school, and that proclamation resulted in a fat lip and a chipped front tooth, which she showed to Alice to illustrate her point. The girl never smiled, so it was the first time Alice had seen Delilah’s teeth.
Alice listened to the same old story, the same old song and dance, and kept drinking her Crown, the whiskey going down like water. She started to finally doze off again when Delilah poked her on the shoulder.
“Someone’s at the door.”
Alice squinted over at the girl. Delilah sat perched on the other twin bed, and the girl pointed toward the door. She put one hand on her purse and still chewed the hell out of her gum.
“Someone’s at the door,” she repeated.
“Screw ’em.” Alice’s head was mush. She hadn’t eaten anything substantial in God knows how long. Mainly a liquid diet for the last twenty-four hours.
“Shouldn’t you go check?” Delilah snapped and chewed.
“You go check. Sleeping.”
“Think it’s the cops?” Delilah whispered.
Alice swung her legs off the bed. “Why would it be the cops? Thought you said you didn’t say anything to them.”
“I didn’t.”
“So why would it be the cops?”
Delilah didn’t respond.
“The cops looking for you?”
“No,” the girl answered with little conviction.
“Bullshit—” The word caught in Alice’s throat as the dead bolt clicked open, and the door creaked forward.
“Someone’s got a key to the room,” Delilah moaned.
A man stepped inside. Maybe thirty years old, but he looked completely wrecked. He stood at an average height, but due to being so damn skinny, he seemed smaller. His ratty T-shirt hung off his frame like a sheet on a clothesline. Unwashed, matted hair clung to the sides of his head, which was dotted with half a dozen lesions. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he stared from Delilah to Alice. His body jerked and twitched, all strung out on something.
“Wrong room, asshole,” Alice snapped.
The man took another step into the room. He held a key in one hand; the other hand hidden behind his back, clutching at something. “Where’s it at?”
“Where’s what at?” Alice said.
The man continued to search the room, eyes snapping opened and closed. He licked at dry lips, and when he swallowed, he winced as if in pain. “Your bag. Where you hiding your bag?”
Alice should have known better, but she was drunk and pissed off, a one-two combo that never helped her think straight. She reached to grab the junkie by his scrawny arm, when the man’s hidden hand shot forward and something hard cracked her on the side of the head. Her vision blurred to streaks of white, and she dropped to the floor. A high-pitched squeal sliced through the haze in her head and a trickle of warm blood leaked down her neck.
Alice tried to get back to her feet, but she went right back down on her ass instead, and she could hear Delilah screaming nonsense through the ringing in her ears.
“Shut the fuck up,” the junkie growled.
Alice peered up as the scrawny addict slammed the door closed behind him. In his right hand, he clutched a two-foot section of metal pipe. The piece of piping was rusted and corroded at each end, and he gripped it so tightly that all his scabby knuckles were bone-white.
He pointed the makeshift weapon at Delilah’s face. “Sit down.” His eyes twitched even faster.
Delilah complied. Backed up and dropped onto Alice’s bed.
“I know you got money in that bag. Now where the fuck is it?”
Alice touched her ear, and then stared at the red stains on her fingertips. The squealing inside her head ratcheted up a few notches to an unbearable pitch. She tried to get to her feet again, but the junkie rammed his boot into her side. She felt a spark of pain flare from one of her ribs, and she rolled up into a ball, her face planted into the carpet that stank of cigarette smoke.
The junkie paced around the room, eyes wild, lips pulled back over rotting teeth. “I know you got money in that bag. We saw it. We saw it.”
Delilah jammed one hand over her mouth, trying to hold back the scream that wanted to erupt.
Alice tried to say something, but could barely catch her breath.
“Tell me where the fucking bag is!” The junkie grabbed the bottle of Crown off the nightstand and hurled it against the wall, glass shattering and falling like shards of rain.
He swung the piece of metal back toward Delilah, who couldn’t hold back any longer, and started up with a desperate, high-pitched cry. “I’ll fucking use this on you. Shut up and lay your ass down.”
The girl tried to stifle her whimpering the best she could and curled up into a tight ball on top of the bed.
The junkie started to rip through the room—yanked open dresser drawers, flipped over the nightstand, checked the closet and under the beds, then he ducked into the bathroom. He kept mumbling to himself—half the words unintelligible, the other half obscene. Alice finally managed to haul herself back up to the sitting position and touched both sides of her head gingerly. When she breathed in, she could feel a sharp stab ripple up her side from the damaged rib. It felt like she had a six-inch steak knife sticking into her back.
Alice watched as the junkie stumbled out of the bathroom, toting the duffel bag. He kept the section of pipe clutched in his hand, dropped the bag on the other bed, and eased down the zipper. His snarl loosened, then slowly eased into a grin. “Shit.” He kept licking at his lips.
Alice’s head throbbed and her side shrieked out in pain, the entire room moving underneath her. She thought that she might vomit or pass out. Maybe both.
Delilah started up with the crying again. Little cat-like mews.
“Would you just shut the fuck up?”
Delilah slapped a hand over her mouth and bit down hard.
Alice brought her fingers to her face. Wiped at the blood. Everything spinning all around her. “Please…” She reached out for the duffel bag, but the junkie yanked it away from her and the man screamed like a trapped animal.
“This shit is mine now.”
Alice lunged forward, grabbed the strap with one hand, and tried to tug the duffel bag from his grasp.
“Let it go, bitch.”
But Alice wouldn’t let go. Too much had happened. She wasn’t about to let go.
The junkie screamed again. Tried to dislodge the strap of the bag out of her hands and shake Alice loose, but ended up dragging her across the floor instead. “Let it go!”
Alice clung to the duffel bag strap and heard Delilah screaming at her to Let it go, let it go, let it go.
“Goddammit,” the junkie hissed. He dropped down on Alice�
�s chest, pinning her arms under bony knees.
Alice could see how dilated his pupils were—like two black holes. He had managed to bite his tongue and a trickle of blood leaked off his chin and dotted at her cheek. He shoved the piece of cold steel against Alice’s throat and pressed down hard.
Alice fought him, but even though the junkie was rail thin, he still outweighed her by twenty-five pounds, and his callused hands were stronger than they looked. The harder she bucked against him, the harder he pressed the pipe against her throat, slowly, methodically crushing her larynx. Alice sucked for air. Her eyes bulged and her vision grew fuzzy—everything starting to go dim and fade away.
Alice heard a dull POP, and her first muddled thought was that the junkie had snapped her neck. Then she heard the junkie moan. Felt the pipe loosen from against her throat and the weight on top of her dissipate.
Her head lolled to the side, cheek sinking into the filthy carpet, and she watched the junkie crumple beside her, blood pumping from where his left ear used to be. His boot heels thudded against the floor, wild at first, then they jerked to a stop as he lost consciousness. His body still twitched, breath ragged, but he clutched at the pipe in his right hand, refusing to let go.
Alice sat up, gasped for air. Her vision dim and speckled with dots of light. She gazed down at the junkie and watched as blood spat from the open wound on the side of his head. He kept moaning, his eyes snapping open and shut, but not really seeing anything.
The sound of mewing got Alice’s attention. She looked up at Delilah. The young girl stood in the center of the bed, holding her opened purse in one hand, a pistol in the other.
The junkie issued a gargling sound from deep inside his throat, like water tumbling over rocks in a stream, and that was the last thing Alice heard before the darkness sucked her in.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NOVEMBER 2005
CERTAIN SOUNDS ALWAYS made Alice think of Jason—running bath water, toaster coils heating up his Pop-Tarts first thing in the morning, the squeak of magic markers against paper. Sounds anchored her memories, especially the bad ones, and she knew she’d probably never escape that reality. This particular sound, the one to her right, she knew without even having to look up. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice it. Nothing but white noise. Tiny pockets of air breaking the surface of water. Jason used to watch his goldfish for hours on end, the fish darting from one end of the tank to the other, occasionally bobbing to the surface in search for food, then to the bottom, sucking up colored stone pellets, then spitting them right back out. The fish never stopped moving, back and forth; their entire world contained behind four walls of glass.
She finally looked over at Elton’s fish tank, much larger and more elaborate than Jason’s. The filtration system pumped a steady flow of oxygen into the water, and that was the only sound that disturbed the otherwise complete silence in the house.
Alice perched on the edge of Elton’s overstuffed floral-print sofa, and gazed around at the rest of the man’s living room. It sure didn’t look like the kind of place that a sixty-five-year-old exterminator would live in. Thick, lush curtains perfectly matched the upholstery on the sofa; a piano commanded the corner of the room next to a bay window with a panoramic view of the river; hundreds of hardbound books lined wood shelves; vases with freshly picked flowers were placed here and there. Everything was neat and clean and precisely situated.
When they entered the house, Elton had boasted to Alice that he built the single-story, red-brick home from the foundation up. Framing the walls, running the electrical and plumbing, installing the floors, painting every surface, and even laying the roof tiles by himself. The house was situated right next to the Shallotte River, with the living room opening up to a wraparound wooden porch that had been constructed over the edge of the water.
Alice peered out the bay window. The rain had finally tapered off, but was now replaced by a dense fog, thick as paste, that rolled in off the glassy surface of the slow-moving river.
Wet hair clung to her face and neck, dripping onto the shiny hardwood floor, meticulously mopped and waxed. The water created a half dozen little puddles that beaded against the wood.
A cup of herbal tea steamed atop a coaster in front of her. And next to that, a marble chessboard stood as the centerpiece on the glass coffee table.
Elton entered the room carrying a stack of neatly folded laundry: a large bath towel and washcloth, a blue T-shirt, and a pair of men’s pajama bottoms. He set the pajamas on the sofa beside her, then handed her the towel. “Need to dry that hair of yours before you go and catch yourself a cold.”
“Thanks.”
“And you best take off them clothes so that I can run them through the wash and dry.” He glanced down at her backpack, which sat in a puddle of water. “Might as well give me that stuff in there, too. You’re a wet mess.”
“Thanks.”
“Hell. You don’t have to keep thanking me. I just don’t want you to go and muck up my floor.”
“Sorry.”
Elton waved the apology away. “Just pulling your leg, kiddo.”
Alice noticed that Elton appeared so different inside his own house. He had changed out of his green overalls, and now wore a pressed pair of khakis and a starched Hawaiian shirt, even though it was almost midnight. His hair was perfectly combed, and Alice wondered if he had shaved, too. It was almost as if he was planning on going out for a night on the town.
Alice dried off her hair and kept glancing around the room. “You live here alone?”
“I do now.”
“Were you married?”
“Something like that.”
“Are you divorced?”
Elton chuckled. Shook his head. “Why don’t I show you to the bathroom and let you change into something dry. Then I’ll rustle up something for us to eat, and we’ll get better acquainted. Sound like a plan?”
This entire situation should have been so uncomfortable and awkward—getting into a stranger’s truck out in the middle of nowhere, going to the house of an old man that she didn’t even know, putting on his pajamas, but the way Elton looked down at Alice, with his pressed pants pulled up too high over his round belly, and the expression in those bluish-white eyes, Alice felt more comfortable and at ease than she had in a very long time.
But even though there was something about the old man that Alice felt worthy of trust, she couldn’t shake the realization that she didn’t even last twelve hours without needing someone’s help. After only a half-day of deciding to run away from home, she found herself cold, wet, hungry, and already completely helpless.
It was as if Elton could read Alice’s mind. “You want me to call your folks?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Positive.”
“Okay. But look here, kiddo. I ain’t sure why exactly you ran away from home, but I imagine that you had your reasons. This here is a safe place for you for the night. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help put things in perspective. In the morning, maybe your situation won’t seem all that bad.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sure your folks are worried sick about you.”
“I know.”
“One call to them to let them know you’re alive ain’t the worst idea in the world.”
Alice stared at the stack of folded pajamas. Her mouth opened to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
“You know, the easiest way to open a clamshell is to boil it, but I ain’t fixing to plop you in a pot of boiling water just yet. You’ll talk when you’re good and ready, I guess.”
She smiled back at Elton and grabbed the folded pajamas off the couch. “Thanks, Mister Parsons.”
“You can just refer to me as Elton. I ain’t no kind of mister.”
“Okay.”
“Alright, then. Let’s get you cleaned up, kiddo.”
Alice followed him down a long hallway where dozens of framed photos hung from hooks on both
walls. Elton was in most of them. Many of the photos were taken when he was a younger man with more hair on the top of his head. Pictures taken at the beach, riding on a horse, holding a string of fish, a few snapped on the porch outside. And also, in a majority of the photos, Elton posed with another man who had a full red beard and wore thick-framed spectacles, and the man’s wide grin was nothing less than contagious. Elton and the red-bearded man posed cheek to cheek in some of the pictures, arms around each other in many more. In the last picture on the wall, Elton and the red-bearded man wore dark suits and fancy ties, their hair all slicked back, and they both seemed so joyful, so thrilled to be pressed together. Alice lingered a little, staring at the image of Elton, a moment frozen in time, looking blissful and content alongside the red-bearded man.
“All right. You can use this washroom. If you’d like, take a bath or shower. Whichever you’d prefer. Water takes a minute to get hot, so give it some time before hopping in.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll make us a couple of omelets, unless you object.”
“No. That sounds good.”
“You like bell pepper and onions?”
“Sure.” She didn’t sound so sure.
Elton gave her a bemused grin. “You hate ’em both, don’t you?”
Alice flushed a little. Covered it with a smile. “Not my favorites, I guess.”
“There. The truth is out. Cheese omelet then?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
He held the bathroom door open for her. “There’s some shampoo under the sink there. Old man shampoo that makes you smell like a sailor, but that’s all I got.”
“That’s fine.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the kitchen when you don’t smell like a rat’s nest.” He turned and ambled down the hallway.
“Thank you, Elton.”
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