The Guilt We Carry

by Samuel W. Gailey

  The relentless waves slapped at her face and blurred her vision, and she could taste the river water on the back of her tongue, but she kept swimming. A little faster, a little harder. The current pulled at her, carrying her downstream, and she fought to swim against it the best she could. And even though it had been over five years since she last swam, Alice’s instincts took over, and her body moved of its own accord, arcing and slicing through the water effortlessly.

  When the thoughts of everything started to seep back into her mind—running from one place to the next; the endless cycle of drinking; the money that wasn’t hers; people dying; then, finally, to where her thoughts always seemed to go, to her Jason—she swam with a renewed sense of urgency. She felt the pinch in her side but didn’t slow as she made it halfway across the river, and she could hear Elton’s faint voice calling after her. Come back, come back, come back.

  Her thighs and calves began to cramp, and her arms got heavier. Both lungs, abused by too many cigarettes and lack of exercise, burned in her chest. But she wouldn’t slow. She didn’t know how long she swam. Two minutes? Maybe five. It didn’t matter.

  Let go.

  The two words filled her ears like a violent clap of thunder.

  She stopped and gasped for air. Her feet couldn’t feel the bottom, and she squinted from the water in her eyes and the sunlight that glowed red all around her, and she stared down the river. She floated along with the current for a few moments and her breath slowly returned.

  Let go.

  She took in a full swallow of air, filling her lungs to their capacity, and dove under the surface. Everything was muted around her except for the rushing swish of the undercurrent. She closed her eyes, feeling the water press down on her from all sides, and she began to weep. She sank deeper, waiting for her feet to touch bottom, but they didn’t find any footing and she drifted. Her mouth opened and she emitted a muffled scream, bubbles erupting in a torrent of white until they eventually ebbed away. It was then that Alice sucked in water and she felt the liquid coarse down her throat and into her belly. Her body kept sinking, slowly but surely.

  She felt a wave of darkness fill her from the inside out, everything going dim.

  Let him go.

  Her eyes snapped back open and she peered above her. The sun was a distorted dot, shrinking smaller and smaller.

  Then, just when her body began to grow numb of sensation, and all her limbs started to feel separate and far away, Alice kicked her way back up, desperate to pull herself away from the darkness that seemed determined to drag her down. It took a few frantic moments, but she finally burst through the surface of the water with a final surge. Her stomach convulsed and she retched up a mouthful of clear liquid, then took in the clean country air, filling her lungs and tasting the sweetness. She lifted her face to the sunlight that tickled at her skin and started to make the long swim back toward the shore.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  ELTON’S WICKER FISHING basket flopped against his hip, just as light now as it was before they went fishing. He didn’t catch a damn fish. Not even a nibble.

  Alice watched how slowly the old man walked, putting all his weight onto his cane, hunched over, his feet barely lifting up off the ground. Seemed like he’d aged ten years since leaving the house. “You okay?”

  “Too damn old is what I am. Feels like I’m breaking down piece by piece.”

  “This walk too much?”

  “Didn’t use to be.”

  She took the fishing poles from his hand and guided him toward a fallen birch tree that set back off the path a few feet. “Let’s take five.”

  “How ’bout ten?”

  “That’s fine. I’m in no hurry to get back.”

  They plopped down on the tree soft with rot, and Elton let out a long sigh. “I tell you what. This getting old nonsense is for the damn birds.” He looked over at Alice, at wet hair that hung down over her face, and her clothes, pretty much soaked through as well. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Yeah. A little.”

  “Sorry you went in?”

  “Nope. Not one bit.”

  He chuckled and gazed out over the river. “What are we gonna do with you, kiddo?”

  “Got a few ideas.”

  “That right? That swim clear out the cobwebs a little?”

  Her face grew distant, eyes wandering toward the path in front of them. “I don’t know. I was thinking … it’s just that I keep showing up here, expecting you to solve all my problems, and it’s not fair. Not fair to you at all.”

  Elton stared at her. Waited for more. And when he didn’t get it right away, he just gave her some more time to mull over her thoughts.

  “I think maybe it’s time to go back home.”

  The pair of squirrels were back, scrambling up and down some black birch trees behind them, chattering and clucking at one another. They scampered from tree to tree, thrashed in the leaves, both freezing at the same exact moment, then starting back up all over again.

  Alice leaned forward on both knees and rubbed at her face. “Why can’t it ever be easy, Elton?”

  He played with his cane, twirling the handle between his fingers. “Sometimes we make it harder on ourselves. Making the wrong decision time and time again.”

  “Yeah, I’ve sure got that part covered.”

  “Seems like things usually get better eventually. Especially if you’re thinking straight. Clarity sure helps matters.” He dug in the dirt with the tip of his cane. “You gonna head home and try to make things right?”

  “Thinking that way.”

  “See there. One good decision down.”

  “And a few others yet to make.”

  “You’ll get there. Baby steps.”

  She stared into his bluish-white eyes that seemed to have gotten even whiter. “You really think so?”

  “I do. If I believed in God, I’d swear to him or her right now.”

  “But what do I say to my parents? Sorry? Sorry that I keep breaking your heart again and again?”

  “Could start with that, for sure. But seeing you, hugging you, knowing that you’re still alive, all that will probably mean more to your folks than anything you could ever say.”

  “I don’t even know. What if they moved? What if they got divorced and moved to different sides of the country?”

  “You can probably find about a hundred different reasons not to go home, Alice, but all you really need is one good reason.”

  Alice grew quiet. Thought about the reality of seeing her parents again after all this time. “You know, I never tried to call them. Not once. To hear their voices or let them hear mine. To let them know that I was okay, not dead in an alley somewhere. No letter of explanation. I didn’t even give them that.”

  “You can’t look back, kiddo. If you do, it’s just gonna eat you up inside. All you can do now is follow what your heart tells you to do. And I don’t give a goddamn if that sounds corny as all hell.”

  “It does.”

  “Well. Fiddlesticks on that.”

  “Give me a ride to Wilmington?”

  “I could probably manage to fit it into my hectic schedule.”

  The squirrels flashed past them, tails snapping, ears pressed back on their tiny skulls.

  “That girl looks up to you. You know that, right?”

  Alice laughed. “I’m no role model. That’s the last thing I am.”

  “Well, you might not want to be, but you are.”

  “I’m a mess, Elton. Besides, she’s in a lot of trouble. Even more than me, for whatever that’s worth.”

  “Well, then, she needs your help even more. Don’t turn your back on her. She’s probably had a lifetime of that.”

  “I can barely take care of myself. How am I supposed to help her? I’ve got nothing to offer.”

  “Sure, you do. Don’t sell yourself short. You can give her a little guidance and support.”

  Alice laughed once again. “Maybe I should just give her the money.�
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  “You really think that’s the answer to her problems?”

  “No.” Her smile slowly ebbed away like the image of a burst of light fading in the night sky. “I took that money thinking that it would help. Give me a fresh start. Make everything all right.”

  “And it hasn’t done a damn thing, has it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Whatcha you gonna do with it?”

  “Don’t know exactly. How do you give back ninety-one thousand dollars of stolen drug money?”

  “Shoot, Alice. I’m just an old fart. You’re asking the wrong damn fella.”

  “You’re a lot more than that, Elton.” She let her head fall against his bony shoulder, allowing herself human contact for the first time in too long, and it felt safe and right and way overdue. They sat that way for a minute, both savoring the moment and the company of one another while a steady breeze played with their hair.

  “Well, kiddo, you ready to head back to the ranch? I swear, the older I get, the smaller my bladder gets.”

  Alice smiled. Shook her head. “I’ll stay here for a few minutes. See if those squirrels come back.”

  He patted her leg. Stood up slowly, and his knees creaked a little bit. “Okey-dokey. I’ll go and see what kind of trouble that young girl is getting into. And since you’re a helluva lot younger than me, I’ll let you lug all the fishing gear home.”

  She said that she would and watched as Elton shuffled down the dirt path with his wood cane leading the way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  ALICE SPOTTED THE car in the driveway as she walked up the path that crested the hill leading from the river. It looked out of place and foreign. A brand-new Grand Marquis, midnight blue, barely any mud on the car, giving it the appearance of being recently detailed. The dark-tinted windows were rolled up, making it difficult to determine if anyone sat inside.

  She stopped by the mailbox but kept staring at the vehicle like she half-expected it to burst into flames, then glanced toward the house, noticing that the front door was closed—nothing unusual with that in and of itself, but something felt wrong, something off. Then she noticed an object—long and thin—lying in the gravel, right in front of the porch. She took a step forward to get a better look and noticed that it was the fishing rod that Elton had prepared for Delilah, snapped clean in half and cast aside.

  Alice’s head jerked back toward the Grand Marquis, and her stomach tightened like a clenched fist as recognition slowly settled upon her—it was the same car from town earlier that day.

  She released the fishing poles and box from her hands simultaneously, where they clattered to the ground. Then, she made a beeline for the front porch. She ran, but it felt like a moment from a night-mare—her feet seemed to be weighed down by an unseen force, pulling her backwards instead of forward. It seemed like it took her minutes to reach the porch, her mind unspooling with dread, thinking, knowing something awful had happened.

  She grabbed the door handle, turned the knob, but it wouldn’t budge, and for some reason, she knew it would be locked anyway. She raised her fists to pound on the door, but stopped herself, reining in her fears, trying to think things through. She peered in through the window instead, but the curtains were drawn tight.

  Alice slipped off the porch and sprinted down the slope that led to the back of Elton’s home. She took the back-porch steps two at a time, pressed flat to the side of the house, and stared in through the sliding glass doors. The living room looked as if it had been turned upside down, like a herd of cattle had stampeded through—the couch flipped over, the glass coffee table shattered, lamps knocked down, books and vases scattered across the floor.

  Next to the piano, she spotted Elton, slumped in a chair, his arms twisted behind him, and his ankles bound together with fishing line. She saw all the blood on his shirt, oozing from an open wound on the side of his head. His mouth hung open, his lips split and torn, glasses crushed at his feet.

  As if sensing her presence, Elton lifted his head, one eye swollen completely shut, and he stared at Alice through the window. The old man’s lips moved, words bubbling and popping out, and he shook his head. Go. Please go.

  Alice tried to slide open the door, but the lock held secure. When she looked back toward Elton, she saw a large man approach him from behind—then she saw the knife gripped in his fist. She beat on the glass with both hands. “Stop! I’m here! I’m here,” she screamed and pounded on the door again, hard enough to rattle the panes of tempered glass.

  Phillip looked at Alice for a moment, his face expressionless and dull, then he loomed over the old man, pressed the blade of his knife to Elton’s throat, and seemed to mumble something. Elton shook his head, thrashed in his seat, but Phillip shoved the knife tighter to the old man’s naked flesh.

  Alice stared at the giant. Noticed all the blood on his hands. She kicked at the glass door, screamed for the big man to stop, to leave Elton alone, but he did neither. She searched the porch for something. Anything. She reached down and picked up a terracotta pot that must have weighed fifty pounds, and barely felt her bruised rib twist and burn as she hoisted the pot above her head and slammed it against the door—the glass buckled and shattered and fell away with a piercing crack.

  She didn’t feel her skin slice open. Didn’t feel the flow of blood spout from a dozen gashes on her arms and hands. She let the momentum carry her into the living room, the clay container still clutched in her grasp. She lunged at the large man as he pivoted toward her, and brought the pot crashing down on the crown of his head.

  Alice felt the crack of his skull, heard the explosion of air choke out from his lungs.

  Phillip staggered backward, chiseled arms pinwheeling until he collided with the bookshelf, sending picture frames and porcelain figurines smashing to the floor. He dropped to one knee, crimson leaking down over glazed eyes that bore a hole straight through Alice.

  “What do you want?” Alice hissed, although she knew exactly why the man was there.

  Phillip spat out some blood and staggered to his massive feet. “The money. Where’s the money?” Before waiting for an answer, he tottered forward, the knife gripped in his paw, ready to slash Alice’s throat.

  Alice dove to the floor, slid through shards of broken glass, ripping open fresh cuts on her stomach. The giant was on her again. Snatched her foot and swung her like a club. Alice collided with the legs of the piano, and the instrument emitted a mournful, distorted groan.

  She spotted Elton’s cane on the floor and seized it. As Phillip lumbered forward, Alice scrambled to her feet, reared back, and swung wildly at the big man, but missed her mark. Phillip slashed at her again, the tip of the blade slicing her across the shoulder. She felt the red-hot spike of pain ripple down her side, and her right arm went numb.

  Phillip came at her again, the blade slashing at the air, relentless, and a primitive growl gurgled from deep inside his throat.

  Alice switched the cane to her other hand and swung backhanded as hard as she could muster. She felt her bruised rib click as the ivory tip of the cane smashed the cartilage in the man’s nose, fluid exploding down his chin, peppering his shirt scarlet.

  Phillip teetered on mammoth feet. His eyes watered up, blurring his vision, but he kept swinging the knife.

  Alice brought the cane down again. Across his jaw, cracking bone, and sending Phillip crashing into the fish tank. Glass shattered and he slumped to the floor, water and thrashing goldfish pooled at his feet as his own blood mixed in with the churning liquid.

  The giant still gripped his knife, tried to stumble back to his feet, but spat out a tooth instead.

  Alice let out a primal scream and kicked at the beast’s face, again and again, causing the man’s head to snap back into what remained of the fish tank, his neck slicing open against peaks of glass. Alice could barely breathe, her heart pounding in her chest, but she kept kicking until her foot throbbed.

  The big man gurgled something, blood pumping from the
side of his neck. He pressed a massive palm to the severed artery, but it did little to prevent the violent gush.

  Alice backed away from the man, still struggling to draw breath into her lungs, when her feet got tangled up with something on the floor, and she landed hard on her tailbone. Her rib clicked again and a flare of pain unspooled inside her.

  She stared over at Delilah, sprawled across the kitchen threshold. The girl’s eyes were closed and there was a growing puddle of blood haloing the back of her head. Alice stood up too quickly, leaned against the doorframe, and felt the wave of darkness slowly squeeze out the light. She took another look at Delilah, then the warm mass rose up from her stomach and into her throat. She bent over and expelled bile all over the hardwood floor, her stomach heaving until it hurt, and all she could think was, Delilah’s dead, Delilah’s dead, Delilah’s dead.

  Then the girl coughed. Moaned and writhed on the floor. Alice dropped down by the girl’s side and touched her cheek. Delilah moaned once again and her eyes flickered open. She stared up at Alice, her eyes glazed and dull.

  “I tried to stop him,” the girl whispered. “I tried.”

  “I know. It’s okay, Delilah. It’s okay.”

  “He was looking for you, but we didn’t say anything.”

  Alice stared down at the girl. Tried to speak, tried to thank her, tried to tell Delilah the way she felt, but was unable to find the words.

  Then a sound came from behind her. She spun around and watched as the big man twitched, the knife finally dropping from within his tight grasp, where it rattled and settled to the floor.

  They’re going to keep coming.

  Henry and Pig at Terry’s trailer. The hulk at her feet.

  She pressed her eyes closed, everything crashing down on top of her. She flashed to the images of the strangers getting out of the Grand Marquis and trudging into Lucy’s Diner—they were right there in front of her, but she had been oblivious, too self-absorbed and wallowing in self-pity.