DESCENT

by Sandy DeLuca

  It looked like a prayer book, but was something more sinister.

  I wondered about the train again.

  * * *

  The snow amounted to nothing. Alight coating of it covers my car, the front steps and the street. A full moon beams in the sky. Shadows dance across the front lawn. I close the blinds before they appear, and before the Impala cruises by again, as I know it will.

  CHAPTER 41

  I must have blacked out. Last I remember it was early evening. Now the clock reads a few minutes past midnight.

  I hear a soft knock on the front door and then something howling outside in the distance. I wish myself back to my brother’s arms, to his laughter and to the place in Heaven where he surely must now be.

  * * *

  The man at the bank said the wire transfer would take a couple days. He sat behind his desk, dressed in his three-piece suit, writing with a designer pen. He didn’t look at me with pity. He didn’t ask questions. I guessed he didn’t sense things like Marla did. Or maybe he didn’t give a shit. He was just a business-man, someone pleased at the thought that a new account would soon be opened at his bank.

  He wished us a good day and didn’t look me in the eye once, not even when I thanked him.

  “We still got enough to get by on for a while,” Sammy said as we made our way to the Impala. “I’m going to drop you off at the room. I’ll pick up a newspaper and take a run up at the park.” He patted his stomach. “I need to stay in shape. I haven’t been training, you know.”

  I knew he was avoiding getting help. It sounded so right and easy back in the Carolinas. But after the last killings he might have figured it was hopeless—and maybe it was. Maybe I was just as guilty as he was now.

  He was too far gone, but I was stuck in an awful position. I could keep pushing him to get help without risking my own safety, but if he didn’t and stayed on the street, I knew more people were going to get hurt. More people were going to die, and I was afraid that next time he’d make me have a lot more to do with it.

  I had to get away from him, but needed to be careful about how I’d do it. If he were high, if the slightest thing set him off, he’d kill again.

  Maybe next time he’d kill me.

  He brought me back to the room, told me to stay put and said he’d be back in about an hour. He peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing and the engine roaring.

  I locked the door behind me, clicked on the TV and turned the volume down. Rowan and Martin’s Laugh In flickered across the screen. Goldie Hawn danced on a pedestal and Ruth Buzzy hit Arte Johnson with her purse; faces of a generation, humor amidst the turmoil in Vietnam and all the unrest and revolution sweeping through America.

  I worked on my drawings. I added more detail; cross hatch lines, blending darks and lights. I wrote on the back of them; names and places as best I could remember.

  There were about a dozen small sketches: Faces. A grave. A body in a truck. The restaurant where Marla and the others died.

  Satisfied with what I’d done, I put the drawings back in the manila envelope. I wrote my Aunt Lil a letter, told her every-thing that had happened as best I could remember it. I told her not to worry because Sammy wouldn’t hurt me—not the way he’d hurt the others. I addressed the envelope to my Aunty.

  On the day I wandered into that convenience store I knew what I had to do. The voices of those Sammy had already killed told me, whispered to me.

  There were still a few unfinished sketches on the pad. I figured I’d have time to complete them when Sammy left me alone again. Maybe I’d send them to the cops or something.

  I thought about lots of things; how I cared about Sammy, despite what he’d done, how he’d feel if I really did split; about the threats he’d made. No matter what did or didn’t happen, I could only hope and pray to God I’d make it out of Miami alive.

  I had to do everything right, slow and thought out. He was shrewd and not easy to fool. Sometimes I thought the whole thing was hopeless, that one day he’d beat me to death, or kill me like the others—or maybe we’d get caught and there’d be a big trial and I’d go to jail too.

  The money would all be here soon, and I knew he’d take that bit-by-bit too, if I didn’t start planning. I remembered my aunt telling me that if you think about something hard enough, imagine it over and over in your head, feel it’s real, then chances are it’ll manifest.

  Aunt Lil’s voice filled my head; words from lessons she’d taught me along ago. Magic isn’t zap, pop, boom, most times. Events have to unfold, things need to be set in motion, aligned and then, like dominos falling, everything happens.

  I left the door open a crack. I didn’t want to lock myself out. I held my purse tight against my chest as I walked around the building. Maria was sitting outside her office, smoking and drinking iced tea.

  She looked up at me and smiled. I told her I needed to mail something. She pointed to the mailbox on the corner. “Sit and have some tea with me first. It’s such a pretty day. Too nice for a young girl to be all alone.”

  “Thanks, but Sammy should be back soon.”

  A small wicker table was at her side. On it was a pitcher of iced tea, some glasses and a beautiful carving of a veiled woman holding rosaries.

  “Beautiful artwork,” I said.

  “You like? My uncle carves them. It’s Saint Barbara—we pray to her. She always answers.”

  I nodded, not sure what to say. “Well, I should get going.”

  “I’ll give you a prayer to Saint Barbara. It’ll bring back your happiness.”

  “Not today—I…”

  Her sister peered out of the office, waved.

  “Maybe tomorrow then?”

  “Sure, maybe,” I said. Then I turned. Fuck it, I thought. “Actually, some iced tea sounds good. Sammy’s always late anyway.”

  “Then sit, sit.” She gave me a beautiful smile.

  Next thing I knew, her sister had joined us.

  “Let me tell your fortune.” Maria smacked her lips.

  “I can’t pay you—I—”

  “No, it’s fine, I’ll do it for free. I need to practice on somebody. I’ve got a house party to do in two nights. I usually walk away from those with hundreds of dollars in cash. So don’t worry.”

  “Okay.” I always felt that a favor should be repaid.

  “You are talented, no? I can see it in your eyes. Can you write me a poem—draw me a picture—sing me a song?”

  “I can draw you a picture.”

  “Then next time I read your cards—and you still feel you want to give me something—that’s what it’ll be. Deal?”

  I felt myself smile, and it felt good. “Okay.”

  She had regular playing cards. “I see some problems with your boyfriend. Things are a bit hazy, but you must know he loves you, no matter what. The love comes through very clearly. He tries to do good, no?”

  “He tries.” Before I knew it or could stop them, tears spilled across my cheeks.

  She laughed, waved her finger. “There’s another,” she said handing me a Kleenex from her apron pocket. “Someone from your past. Maybe someone in your future. You are a pretty girl. You’ll always have men. But Sammy is the one you must be true to.”

  “Thank you.”

  Aunt Lil was more skilled at card reading, better at seeing things in depth. But Maria seemed like a good woman. She did say she needed to practice. Most likely she didn’t have my aunt’s experience. Despite what she’d said, I tried to enjoy her company nonetheless.

  “Here, put some whiskey in your tea.” She pulled a flask out of her pocket, opened the top and poured a fair amount into my glass.

  She turned over another card. “Do you love your boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t have stuck with him—”

  “Have more tea. Enjoy the liquor. You need to unwind.”

  I spent several hours with Maria. I don’t remember much of the conversation, just snatches of her talking about Cuba, her life
here and the men in her life. The whiskey got to my head and I eventually thanked her, excused myself and returned to the room.

  A half hour had passed since I left Maria. Night of the Living Dead was on TV. Zombies were trying to climb through windows. Women sat helpless inside an old farmhouse while men nailed the windows shut. It seemed everywhere I looked men were always portrayed as in control and women as always weak and dependent. Bullshit, I thought.

  A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

  Maria stood there, lips glossed with pink, hair teased high. “I’m meeting a date in a while, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. I think I gave you too much to drink.”

  “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

  She turned to go, hesitated. “Oh, you left your envelope on the chair. I mailed it for you. I wanted to make sure it was in the mailbox by the morning pickup. It looked important.” Her eyes were warm. She smiled tenderly.

  “Thank you, it was important,” I said, feeling a rush of nervousness and relief all at once. “Maria, would you do me another favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t mention the envelope to Sammy if you talk to him, okay? It’s a…surprise.”

  “I’ll keep it a secret.” She winked at me. “See you tomorrow maybe?”

  I nodded hopefully and smiled.

  * * *

  My mother is awake. She sits up in bed, sips her coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “Did you bring me the paper? I haven’t read the paper in weeks.”

  “Yes, and some magazines that you like too.” I shake the brown paper bag I’m holding.

  “You don’t know what I like. You always get the wrong things.”

  “The gardening magazine, Ma and—” I hand her the bag, watch her open it.

  “It’s not the right one. I should have known.”

  A nurse enters the room.

  “Time for your sponge bath, sweetie.”

  My mother tosses the magazine across the bed. “Go home, Julia. I’m well taken care of here.”

  The nurse smiles at me, brushes by me as she goes to the closet to retrieve wash clothes and soap. She smells of burnt wood, of something ancient and rotting. I notice that there are ashes on the shoulders of her white uniform.

  “Go home, Julia, I’m in good hands.”

  CHAPTER 42

  I lay silky underwear on my bed and choose a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a black satin blouse from my closet. I spray perfume on my neck and wrists. I’ll look beautiful for him. I’ll make him stay this time and we’ll work this out. We’ll have our redemption.

  Nothing I could do to stop it, Cara Mia.

  * * *

  Sammy didn’t come home that night.

  I didn’t sleep. Every time a car drove into the lot I’d open the blinds and peek out, but it was never him. By six the following morning I was worried sick.

  I opened the door, stood out on the balcony for some air and watched the sun come up. The air was stagnant and warm.

  Maria was already down by the pool. She wore silky pajamas and I could hear her jewelry clicking and jingling as she moved. She was sweeping, picking up candy wrappers and soda cans from the ground. She spotted me and waved.

  “Are you all alone?”

  I nodded.

  “Come down. I’ll make breakfast. No whiskey in your orange juice, I promise,” she laughed.

  I showered, dressed, dried my hair and hurried down for breakfast. The old men by the pool eyed me as I passed them, and a man by the soda machine said good morning to me. The faint smell of decay lingered in the air.

  The office smelled of bacon, eggs and fresh coffee. I hadn’t eaten dinner the night before because there had only been a stale bag of chips in the room, so I was starved.

  Maria unfolded a table, put three steaming plates and cups out.

  “You didn’t see Sammy cruising by, did you?” I asked.

  “No, he never came back? Did you eat dinner last night?”

  “No.”

  “You must be famished. I’ll make some extra eggs. Toast some English muffins.” She pinched my cheek. “You could use some weight on those bones. Sit, sit.”

  “Thanks, Maria.”

  I told myself I didn’t give a shit when or if Sammy came back. Maybe this could be my chance. I glanced over at the mailbox. “Did they pick up today?”

  “Yes, your mail is on the way. Now come and eat. My sister is on the way down.”

  A thought came to me. If Sammy came back and didn’t find me in the room he might blow a fuse. I didn’t even realize how conditioned by him I’d become. “Maybe I should run upstairs and leave Sammy a note.”

  “Fine—but he doesn’t deserve an explanation after leaving you there all night by yourself.”

  Scenes of violence blinked in my mind. “You don’t understand how—”

  “I understand. Go, do what you gotta do. Then come back and eat.”

  I spent the next few hours with Maria and Estrella—the Cortez sisters. Maria, the older one, around thirty-five, loved to tell fortunes on her beaten deck of playing cards she said she’d brought with her from Cuba. She told me to shuffle, to ask questions. It was always the same.

  “Sammy loves you. Don’t worry. Things will be fine.”

  I realized more than ever that her readings were sketchy and not as colorful as my aunt’s, but she was a lot of fun. I also appreciated the food and company. It had been so long since I’d been allowed to interact with anyone other than Sammy.

  Estrella, at twenty-eight, constantly spoke about finding her Prince Charming. She went to clubs and spoke gaily about the men she danced and drank with. But none were right for her. Nobody had the charm she was looking for.

  “None of them have enough money,” Maria laughed. “That’s what she really means.”

  “Oh, stop teasing me. I had one with plenty of money last summer. Remember, Geraldo? He owned the jewelry stores in Daytona. He gave me the silver pendant that you steal from me each chance you get.”

  “Yes, but where is he now? Gone. Poof.” Maria waved her hand. “Come, let me tell you who you’ll marry, sister,” she said shuffling her deck of cards.

  Estrella and I looked at each other and laughed with our eyes.

  “Put away those silly things. Last time you said I’d meet an older gentleman—handsome—reserved—it never happened.”

  Maria laughed heartily. “I never said you wouldn’t be an older woman by the time it happens.”

  Estrella poked her sister playfully.

  “Julia, draw me a picture,” Maria said dreamily. “One of the ocean at night.”

  The sisters had this glow about them, yet there was something mysterious about them as well, like they might’ve had strange, brooding secrets. The last thing I wanted was for Sammy to hurt them—or anybody else—but I knew my simply being around them potentially put them in enormous danger.

  Eventually Sammy would come back. Then what?

  * * *

  I long for the phone to ring. I’m so afraid that he’ll change his mind; that our meeting will never be. It’s something that has to happen now, something that’s been unfinished for twenty-one years.

  I do a couple lines of coke; watch the second hand on the clock.

  The phone rings and I’m terrified and filled with relief all at once.

  Another day and we’ll be together. Are your hands still beautiful, still filled with magic?

  CHAPTER 43

  I gaze at myself in the mirror. My clothes are hanging off me. Everything I’ve tried on is too big.

  I’ll stop by the mall later, buy some jeans and a pretty top. Maybe I’ll even have my hair done.

  I want to look perfect for him. Is it tomorrow that we are to meet, or is it the day after tomorrow?

  No matter. He’ll let me know when the time is right.

  * * *

  The hot steamy morning gave way to rain. Thunder rumbled and lightning came in angry streaks, as the tropical rain slammed the pave
ment and pounded the windows.

  It was noon when Sammy finally returned. He strolled into the room like he’d only just left.

  “I didn’t have any food or money,” I told him.

  “You want me to go get some steak sandwiches down the block?”

  “No, the ladies downstairs fed me a huge breakfast. Then they gave me sandwiches to take back with me.”

  “Good.” He laughed. “I know you’ll be taken care of if this happens again.”

  “Where were you all this time?” The moment the words left my mouth I wished I could’ve snatched them back.

  “None of your fucking business,” he snapped. “How many times I have to tell you I needed some space? I drove all night. I walked on the beach. I got a lot of shit to think about just in case you don’t remember.” He moved closer. His breath smelled of onions. There were coffee stains on his shirt. He’d obviously made sure he’d gotten something to eat and drink. Thunder cracked as I watched him slip out of his clothes. He took the little book out of his pocket, stroked it lovingly then turned to me. “People have died for this,” he said. He opened it, flipped the pages and kissed it like a lover. As he climbed into bed he tucked it under his pillow. “I’m tired. I’ve been up all night. Wake me for supper. We’ll order pizza.”

  The news interrupted an old I Love Lucy rerun. Two young girls had been found dead over in the next county. Their throats had been cut and strange symbols had been drawn with their blood on the hood of their car.

  Thunder sounded again, or maybe it was only my mind breaking apart, tearing into millions of tiny pieces, shards falling about my feet like pieces of shattered glass.

  Sammy pointed to the space on the bed next to him as if he were summoning a dog. I curled up next to him, held my pillow tight.