Ugly Young Thing

by Jennifer Jaynes

  Plus, the room was starting to spin.

  She planted her palms against the counter in front of her just to hold herself up.

  “Just know you’re not wanted around here,” the man said. “So you better watch your step. Don’t need no copycat of what your brother did either. Sick sonofabitch.”

  Allie’s hackles rose. Now she burned red. “My brother was ten times the man you are, you ignorant backwoods asshole!”

  “No, your brother was a sick piece of shit,” the man spat. “And you know what? You look like a worthless piece of shit, too.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  Allie’s manager appeared by her side, red-faced, confused, and smelling vaguely of liquor. “Allie? What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

  But Allie didn’t even look at him.

  She was too busy working up spit in her mouth.

  CHAPTER 29

  BITTY DROVE ALLIE home from Sherwood Foods and, brow furrowed, silently listened to what she had to say. She didn’t interrupt once. In fact, she said nothing on the drive home. Not one word.

  But every time Allie glanced at the old woman, she seemed to be gripping the steering wheel even tighter.

  She knew she had let the old woman down by acting the way she had, especially after Bitty had gone through the trouble to get her the job. And on her first day no less. Spitting in a customer’s face. Now that took some serious class.

  The guy in the supermarket was right: I AM a piece of shit.

  Being the new and improved Allie was much more difficult than it looked. Maybe she didn’t have it in her after all.

  The angrier Bitty looked, the faster Allie talked, letting more and more words spill out of her mouth. She talked so quickly, she reminded herself of Hannah. For the full twenty minutes of the drive, Allie talked. She talked about what had happened at Sherwood Foods. She talked about how people never liked her. How she’d never fit in. About how crazy her mother had made her brother. About how much she missed him. About how frightened she had always been. About how difficult it was being so hideous and hated.

  Most of the words tumbled out before she even knew she was going to say them. She just couldn’t stand for there to be any silence between them. She was mortified that she had just lost control and screwed everything up for herself. She was trembling and desperate and felt like she had nothing more to lose—so she talked.

  And Bitty listened.

  Silently.

  Allie was still talking when the two walked through the back door of the house.

  Miss Bitty threw the car keys onto the kitchen counter and walked through the kitchen to the living room. Allie followed her, finally silent. She had run out of things to say. She also felt empty and alone. And very afraid.

  “Sit,” Bitty ordered. The television in the living room was tuned in to an episode of CSI, the blue-tinted lights flickering in the otherwise dark room. Obviously, Big Joe had left the television on. It was something she’d heard Bitty tell him not to do on at least three occasions. It was one house rule Bitty didn’t bend on: wasting resources.

  “That Joe,” Bitty muttered, switching on a lamp. She searched for the remote control. Finding it between two couch cushions, she grabbed it, lowered the volume, then turned to Allie.

  Allie sat, her throat dry. She had ruined everything. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to live with Miss Bitty. To get tutored, get her GED, maybe go to college. To be girlfriends with Hannah. To have a chance at a real future. At happiness.

  She had been wrong about the old woman. It was more than obvious that Miss Bitty was a kind person. The type her mother always told her didn’t exist. The type of person people wanted to be around. The type who people respected.

  Exactly the type of person Allie wanted to be, instead of who she was now: the wayward teenage tragic mess of a hooker who couldn’t hold down a decent job because she didn’t have the good sense not to spit in customers’ faces.

  “I’m so sorry,” Allie said, staring down at her lap, her voice trembling.

  “Oh girlie, I don’t blame you a bit!”

  What?

  Allie’s jaw dropped. For the first time since Sherwood Foods, she noticed the old woman’s eyes were full of fire. They locked on hers. “Baby, you knew something like that was bound to happen once you came back here, right? I know that it didn’t feel very pretty, but you have to realize that some people are just plain cruel, especially if they feel threatened.” The old woman placed a soft, thin hand in hers. Allie was amazed at how paper-like the woman’s skin felt.

  Tears flowed from Allie’s eyes. So many she couldn’t wipe them all away, and some dripped into her lap.

  “The only thing we can do is guard ourselves from the inside,” the woman said, handing Allie a tissue.

  Easier said than done. If only I knew how . . .

  “I am very sorry you had to experience that. If there is one thing I have no patience for, it is bullying of any type.”

  “So I can stay here? Really?”

  The woman’s eyes softened. “Oh sweetie, of course.” Miss Bitty reached out and hugged her. Allie had never been a hugger. In fact, unless it had been a sexual encounter, there’d only been a few people she’d ever touched in her whole life. But the hug felt incredible.

  “You’re shivering,” the old woman said. She withdrew and stood up. “Go draw yourself a nice, warm bath. I’ll bring you a little something to relax you. Then we can talk some more. As much as you need to, okay?”

  Allie suddenly wanted to hug the old woman again, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out, so she did as Miss Bitty told her and got up from the couch. “I’ll do better next time,” she promised.

  And she meant it.

  “I will do much better. Just watch.”

  But Bitty wasn’t listening to her any longer. Something on the television screen had caught her eye. The old woman picked up the remote control and turned up the volume.

  The local news was showing a story. The caption SON WALKS IN DURING MOTHER’S MURDER was splashed across the bottom of the screen in large capital letters.

  Allie moved to the television to get a better look. On the screen, neighbors milled about on the sidewalk in front of a ranch-style house. An attractive female reporter stood next to a tall oak tree, her hair blowing in the evening breeze. “As we reported earlier, thirty-one-year-old Lucy DeWalt, local and single mother, was stabbed thirty-two times in her home and found by her twelve-year-old son as she . . .”

  Memories of the things Allie had witnessed her mother and brother do flashed in front of her eyes. Her knees went weak. “Where did that happen?” Allie whispered.

  Miss Bitty spoke, quietly, without taking her eyes off the television. “Truro.” Truro was three towns from Grand Trespass. It was where Sherwood Foods was located.

  “Things like this don’t happen here. Uh-uh. Not in this neighborhood,” a heavyset woman holding a pajama-clad toddler was saying on the television. “It’s really frightening. Not knowing what your neighbors are into. Makes you wonder just who people really are.”

  There was a sudden noise—sharp and loud—from the back of the house. Allie jumped and her nostrils filled with gunpowder.

  The gunshot . . . Her brother falling to the floor.

  That final night with her brother flashed in her head again, as vivid as if it were actually happening. She began to shake.

  Heavy footsteps bounded swiftly toward the women. A few seconds later, Big Joe walked in with his jug of green smoothie. Seeing the women, he smiled.

  Allie wanted to scream at him for continuing to open the door so loudly. For just barreling in like a bull in a china shop and nearly giving her a heart attack. He’d frightened her over a dozen of times by doing it. But she managed to bite her tongue. She was already on very rocky ground and she knew it.

  “Joe, you have to stop doing that,” Bitty snapped. “Rushing through the door like you’re going to tear it down. The
girl undoubtedly has post-traumatic stress syndrome, and you scare the bejeezus out of her every time you do that.”

  It was the first time Allie had seen the woman angry at someone. The first time she’d ever seen her lose her cool.

  Joe’s smile disappeared. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember.”

  Miss Bitty’s hands went to her hips. “Look, Joe. There are things we try to do and things we just do. Don’t try. Do it.”

  “Okay.”

  Bitty crossed her arms. When she spoke next, her tone was softer. “I apologize for raising my voice, Joe. Please forgive me.”

  “No, you’re fine. I’m really sorry. I’ll take more care when walking into the house.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Miss Bitty turned to Allie. “You’re still shivering. Go take a warm bath and get some pajamas on. I’ll be in soon.”

  A few minutes later, Allie sat in the bath with hot water trickling between her toes. She curled and straightened them under the soothing spray and tried to think of absolutely nothing, like Miss Bitty had shown her the week she’d moved in.

  When a memory of the nasty words that had been said at the supermarket tried to needle its way through, she visualized a big red “Stop” sign and the thought melted away. It worked most of the time. The times it didn’t, though, she found herself wanting to just disappear.

  She didn’t want a job anymore. Leaving the house was just too hard. Maybe she could stay home and help Miss Bitty. The woman probably could use more help—and Allie was willing to do anything she wanted her to do. Anything not to have to spend much time in public again. To be on display.

  She stayed in the bathtub until her fingertips puckered, then climbed out and wrapped her cotton bathrobe around herself. Shuffling out of the bathroom, she found Bitty sitting on her bed, smiling.

  The woman patted the down-turned bed. “Get in.”

  Allie crawled in and the old woman held out two pills and a glass, then set an unmarked bottle of pills on the nightstand.

  “Take two of these twice a day without food and make sure to keep drinking your green drinks every morning.”

  “What are they?” Allie asked, taking the pills. She set down the glass of water.

  “Aminos. They should help with your anxiety. And if they don’t, just tell me and we’ll try something different.” Miss Bitty grabbed her hands again. “You’re a good girl. You’re nothing like what that nasty man said you are. He doesn’t know you. He just knows the unspeakable things your family did.”

  Allie nodded.

  “I also want to address something you said in the car,” she continued, concern creasing her old face. “You said some really harsh things about yourself. Like how you think you’re hideous and ugly, and how you just don’t belong anywhere. Were you just upset, or do you really think those things?”

  Allie stared at the woman. “Well, don’t you?”

  “Think those things?” Miss Bitty frowned. “Of course not.”

  “But when I got here, you said . . .”

  “I said what?”

  “The morning you introduced me to Joe. You said I was ugly.”

  The old woman looked perplexed at first, but then realization slowly crept into her eyes. “Oh Allie! That was more of a figure of speech than anything. You were behaving so rudely, so yes, I saw ugliness. I was making a point . . . and a good one.” She paused and squeezed Allie’s hand. “But my God, I used the wrong words and I’m so sorry. I don’t, for an instant, want you to believe such things about yourself, you hear me?”

  Allie was confused.

  “Honestly, attitude, and behavior aside . . . if we’re just talking about physical features, you’re gorgeous.” She took Allie’s face in her hands. “I mean, look at you. You are one of the most physically attractive young women I’ve ever seen. It’s just when you’re acting ugly, your behavior overwhelms those features. Makes you much less appealing.”

  She’s lying to you. You’re hideous and you know it.

  “But my mother even told me I was ugly.” Actually, she still does.

  “Oh dear. Your mother was wrong, Allie.”

  Tears flooded Allie’s eyes. “How can you say I’m gorgeous? Seriously. How can you? It’s so confusing!”

  Miss Bitty smiled. “Because you are. But whether you are stunning or ugly as sin, what matters most is that you’re pretty on the inside. And Allie, you are. And you get prettier each and every day in all of the important ways.”

  “How come what I see in the mirror is so ugly then?”

  Miss Bitty gripped her hands again. “Well, I’m no expert, but I’m sure it has a lot to do with everything you’ve gone through, girlie. You’ve shouldered more pain in your young life than most people will ever see. You were raised by someone sick who taught you all the wrong things.”

  Miss Bitty’s words made Allie’s heart ache in a good way. She let her tears flow and didn’t bother wiping them away.

  But she doesn’t know who you really are. The disgusting things you’ve done.

  Allie decided to come totally clean. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not a good person. I’ve only been pretending so you don’t send me away,” Allie admitted, the tears coming more forcefully.

  “It’s okay. We all find ourselves pretending sometimes.”

  Although the woman’s words were comforting, Allie began to bawl . . . and she couldn’t stop.

  “I’ve slept with men . . . for money,” she blurted out, frightened to look into Miss Bitty’s eyes.

  Miss Bitty reached out and squeezed her hand.

  Did she not understand what I just said?

  “Do you understand what I’m saying? And . . . and it was actually a lot of men. Too many to count,” Allie sniffed. “I’m disgusting. I really am.”

  The woman embraced Allie. “No, you’re not disgusting. You’re just a confused young girl,” she said, patting her back. “You’ve had a very difficult life . . . and made mistakes, but your mistakes don’t define you. Lord, if they did, we would all be in a world of trouble.”

  Miss Bitty pulled away from Allie and stared into her eyes. “I’m so happy that you finally trust me enough to confide in me. It’s good for you. It’s good for us both.”

  Allie wiped her eyes, incredulous that the woman still wanted anything to do with her.

  “Just continue to work on yourself, girlie. Bring out all of that inner beauty, the only beauty that ultimately matters—and know that I’m here anytime you need help. You understand?”

  Allie nodded.

  “Miss Bitty,” she sniffed. “I don’t want another job. I don’t feel comfortable being around a lot of people. Please . . . don’t make me.”

  “Of course. I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  Allie breathed a sigh of relief.

  The two sat in silence for several minutes, their fingers intertwined, until Allie was able to catch her breath again. Once she did, she realized that she felt much better; better, but exhausted.

  “That’s all I had to say. Would you like to talk some more about today?” Bitty asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here.”

  The old woman gave her hands one last squeeze, then released them and left the room.

  Allie lay, staring at the ceiling, hopeful that the woman wasn’t just trying to be nice. That maybe it was true and she really wasn’t hideous. That maybe it was just her mind playing more tricks on her. She considered going to the mirror to look but in the end decided not to.

  Feeling drowsy, she replayed how good the woman’s fingers had felt laced in between her own. The feeling of skin on skin for reasons other than sex.

  For the first time since Johnny left, she didn’t feel so alone. Someone finally cared about her. Like, really truly cared.

  She could hardly believe it. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off.

  The woman is a lia
r. She’s lying to you, the voice hissed into her ear. But Allie was too far gone to even hear it, much less let it bother her.

  CHAPTER 30

  HE TOOK ONE last anxious drag, then tossed his cigarette into a coffee can. Walking to the tree, he yanked hard on the rope.

  Yes, the branch was still sturdy.

  He stared at the knot, which, of course, was perfect. He’d made many over the years. After all, people like him, who did unspeakable things—and who would also do nothing but shrivel up and die in a prison cell—needed an exit plan. Satisfied with his handiwork, he walked to the back door.

  He still couldn’t believe how royally he’d fucked up. How lazy he’d gotten. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with: himself for being so stupid or the son for screwing everything up.

  Once inside, he turned on the television and instantly found what he was looking for. Front and center on the six o’clock news.

  The lead story.

  Shit.

  He had hoped it would get very little coverage. After all, the country was at war. People died every day. And this one woman had been truly meaningful to who? Maybe five people . . . if she was lucky?

  But, of course, the local news would jump on it. And people would talk. He’d only been fooling himself. It was small-town Louisiana, after all.

  Feeling a muscle in his cheek jump, he angrily watched. According to the reporter, the woman’s son and a friend had returned to the house and had found the power out. The friend had then gone to check the breaker box while the boy went to check on his mother. That’s when he caught the murderer in his mother’s room. The boy ran and the suspect pursued the child through the woods, but the boy was able to get away.

  There had been two boys.

  Now it made sense. The question now was, did either boy get a good enough look at him to describe him?

  Feeling his face redden, he recounted the events of that night. He had run after the son but hadn’t been quick enough. He had burst through the hallway and rounded the corner of the living room just in time to see the kid flee through the back door, then fly into the woods out back. He chased him into the woods but almost instantly lost his trail.