The Beloved

by Gonzalez, J. F.

  “Yeah.” Elizabeth sighed. “You’re right.” She turned to her left side, snuggling up to Gregg. “Night, honey.”

  “Night, babe.” Gregg turned to her and they kissed. Then Gregg rolled over back to his side and was snoring within five minutes.

  Leaving Elizabeth awake and wondering about Ronnie and Diana and her own relationship with Gregg, telling herself she shouldn’t even worry about liking Diana right now. She had her own marriage to worry about.

  CINDY BAKER WAS well into her sixth or seven beer at the Cocalico Tavern when the trouble started.

  She’d spent most of the evening venting to Ray Clark, her drinking buddy at the Tavern. She’d had a lot to bitch about. “First my fucking ex starts fucking this new bitch from Oh-fucking-Hi-Oh, then he moves her skanky ass back here and buys her a fucking house, moves her fucking kids in and my daughter in with them. Can you believe that? He’s got my daughter living with that bitch and her fucking kids. And then Gary got a bug up his ass about something and filed for custody of Jason. Can you believe that shit?”

  Ray Clark shook his head, his weasely features stubbled, his eyes red. He was wearing a dirty baseball cap over his brittle collar-length blonde hair, a black t-shirt, biker boots and ratty denim jeans over his too skinny frame. He clutched a bottle of Budweiser in his fist. “That’s fucked up.”

  “Goddamn right that’s fucked up!” Cindy proclaimed, voice raised. She pounded down a hearty slug, thunked her bottle on the bar top. “First he moves out of the house and takes Jason. Okay, I don’t mind him taking Jason because I didn’t really have a place for him to stay after we lost our apartment, you know? But then he had to turn around and file for full custody? Of my son?”

  “That’s fucked up,” Ray said again, confirming to Cindy that things were fucked up indeed.

  Cindy took a drag from the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. Her voice was rough from cigarettes and hard booze. Both of them looked like they came with the bar when it was built. “Hearing for court’s Thursday and no way in hell I can be there. I’ve got a job interview that afternoon and I need this job, because if I don’t get it I won’t have a chance at being a part of Jason’s life, you know? At least if I can get a job and work for awhile I can come back later when they have that family mediation thing and they’ll see I’m working. Know what I mean?”

  “You see a lawyer?” Ray asked, taking another swig of beer. Ray looked forty-four shades of fucked up. He’d already been drinking at the bar when Cindy showed up two hours ago.

  Cindy took a drag on her cigarette and gave Ray a look. Damn, but he was a dumb fucker. Hadn’t be been listening? “Not yet,” she said, biting her tongue. She wanted to tell him he was dumber than dog shit, but she didn’t want to drive him away. She needed a place to stay tonight and she was hoping she could crash with him tonight. She couldn’t piss him off now.

  Cindy Baker was thirty-three years old and had been officially homeless now for almost a month. Fortunately she didn’t live out of her car; she’d spent the first two weeks after she and Gary lost the apartment staying at her mom’s. Then when her mom had got on her shit for drinking, she’d left and stayed with Carl Eastman, a fuck-buddy she’d been banging on the side while Jason was at Gary’s parents and Gary was at work. She’d been in the process of dumping Carl since he was never around anyway—he was usually hanging out with friends of his who were members of Satan’s Slaves, a local motorcycle club. Shortly after Gary filed for full custody of Jason she’d lost it, spending a few days in the psych ward at the local hospital. She’d spent a week with her mother but finally left. Two weeks were spent bopping around various friends’ apartments, sleeping on their sofas. This week she’d spent a night at her brother’s house, and she’d bitten the bullet and stayed one night at her mom’s. Then she thought of Ray, so she had come to the Cocalico because she knew that tonight was his Saturday night—Ray worked a graveyard shift at the Acme warehouse in Reamstown. She’d had a hundred bucks on her that she’d gotten from her last pay check at her last job, which she’d quit a few days ago because her boss was a chainsaw Nazi-bitch, so she had enough to get by for another night or two. If this new job came through she’d be fine. But then she’d have to deal with this other shit.

  Namely Ronnie and his new girlfriend.

  She hadn’t liked the situation the minute Laura told her about it a few months ago when she was over at her former in-laws’ house to pick up Mary. She’d called Ronnie that night when Gary was at work and yelled at him, in the end breaking down in tears. “Why?” she’d sobbed. “Why do you have to bring her out here, Ronnie? I love you and I want to be with you. Please don’t do this!”

  But Ronnie told her to fuck off. They were divorced—remember? She’d left him for Gary, whom she’d been sleeping with while they were married, he sarcastically reminded her. Cindy had cried harder, shaking her head as Ronnie ground the salt into the wound. “I gave you two years to come to your senses and come back. Did I file for divorce immediately? No. I didn’t. I tried to get us into marriage counseling and you refused. I held out all hope but you never came back, so what was I supposed to do? Besides, by then you were already pregnant with Jason and you and Gary had already been living together for almost two years, so as far as I was concerned we were through. It’s over, Cindy. It’s been over since you walked out on Mary and me four years ago.”

  Cindy had screamed and slammed the phone down, hanging up on him. Then she’d grabbed her leather jacket and headed to the Cocalico where she’d gotten shit-faced and gotten into a fight with some skanky bitch.

  Knowing that Ronnie was fucking another woman made her angry. Couldn’t he see that she wanted him just as badly, if not more, than any other woman? Yeah, so she’d fucked up—but she’d been scared. She was a new mother, and she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, and the work she was getting just wasn’t challenging and she was bored and then she’d met Gary and it had just happened. They’d started messing around. He was giving her what Ronnie couldn’t give her, which were his time and a nice stiff one. If Ronnie wasn’t working, he was being dad to Mary or spending time with his parents or his friends. Being husband came last.

  Shit, but she needed something stronger to drink. She signaled for the bartender, an older guy named Bill, who worked days at the Acme Warehouse. “Shot of Jack,” she said, fishing in her purse for her wallet. She turned to Ray. “Want one?”

  “Yeah,” Ray said, his eyes getting a little more animated at the news Cindy was buying him a shot of Jack Daniels. “Damn straight!”

  Bill set down shot glasses and served them up. Cindy picked up her shot glass and held it up to Ray’s. “To us,” she said, clinking her glass against his. “Because you’re the best drinking buddy I’ve ever had in this whole damn county!”

  “Damn straight!” Ray said, and they tipped their shots back and drank up.

  The whiskey went down smooth and Cindy chased it with a hearty gulp of beer. She was halfway to being high now. If she only had some blow on her, this could be a good night.

  It would help her forget.

  Cindy motioned for another shot and Bill poured it. She drank it down, her memory simmering. First Ronnie takes Mary from her, and then Gary takes their son Jason. And he had the nerve to file for full custody! And to petition the court that she wasn’t allowed to take Jason or see him without ‘supervision!’ What kind of shit was that? Hadn’t she raised Jason since he was fucking born? Like it was really her fault the last time she and Gary fought the ashtray she’d thrown at his head missed because he’d ducked—and had hit Jason instead. Like Gary was the perfect parent; he’d done his share of blow with her; had two DUI convictions on his record, had been convicted of attempted murder stemming from a bar fight ten years before and served three months in prison for it. And he had the nerve to say his shit didn’t stink?

  Fuck him!

  And then there was Ronnie, her ex-husband. Moving his new whore in and buying her a house, mo
ving her and her stupid kids in. No fucking way was Mary going to be raised by this woman. Besides, if Ronnie had only taken Cindy back the way he should have, things would have been fine with them. The house Ronnie and Mary were moving into would be hers as well! That cunt from Oh-fucking-Hi-Oh wouldn’t even be in the picture.

  The thought of going over to the house to pick up Mary for visits made her blood boil.

  She signaled the bartender for another shot.

  “Damn,” Ray said, almost empty bottle of beer raised to his lips. He looked at her with drunken amazement. “You’re doing some heavy drinking there, girl.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Cindy said, knocking back her third shot. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and was just about to reach for her beer when she felt a presence behind her.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Psycho-bitch who just can’t get enough cock up her stinking pussy.”

  Cindy whirled around and came face to face with Karen Murphy.

  Karen’s blue eyes were smoldering pits of anger. She was nearly a head taller than Cindy, but was just as skinny. She was wearing blue jeans, a Harley Davidson T-shirt and Tony Llama boots. Her cheeks were scarred with acne and they now blazed a bright red. Her frizzy blonde hair hung in her face, her mouth set in an angry scowl. “Yeah, I’m talking to you,” Karen said. “What, you deaf?”

  “What are you getting in my face for, bitch!” Cindy yelled, and now the adrenaline was pumping through her. Before she knew it, she shot out of the barstool and was standing up, trying to pump her height up. Ray scampered back, his weasely features bearing a what the fuck? look.

  “You already on to the next one or something?” Karen sneered. “Forget you were fucking my boyfriend last week, bitch?”

  Then Karen pushed her.

  Cindy exploded. She swung a wild haymaker that landed on the side of Karen’s face and as Karen fell back, Cindy jumped on her and they were at it. Karen reached out and grabbed a fistful of Cindy’s hair as she crashed to the ground and Cindy swung her fist down on Cindy’s face. She felt Karen’s nails rake her cheek, coming dangerously close to her left eye, and she was screaming at the bitch, screaming at her to take it back! You fucking bitch, take it back! And she was hitting Karen, and Karen was pulling her hair with one hand and slapping her face and scratching her with the other, and then strong hands were grabbing Cindy, pulling her off the other woman. The bar, which seemed to have been practically empty before the fight, was suddenly filled with people as they crowded in to watch, and several men stepped into the fray to break it up.

  THREE

  August 4, 2002

  From: eweaver@dejazzd.com (Elizabeth Weaver)

  To: bcampbell@hotmail.com (Brad Campbell)

  Re: The Year’s Best Horror Anthology

  Brad,

  Hey, so how’s it going?

  Business first: the panels you’ve signed me up for at this year’s World Fantasy Convention sound fine to me. And thanks for scheduling my signing and reading early in the day Sunday rather than later — I plan to leave for home Sunday afternoon. And again, thanks for reprinting my story “He’s Already Dead” in the latest Year’s Best Horror anthology.

  Been busy around here as well. I decided not to work this summer. With school off for the summer, and royalties for the last two books coming in at just the right time, I decided to take the summer off from doing ‘day job work’ and just stay home and write. This is just what I needed. This has been the best summer in a long time. Gregg goes off to work at seven-thirty, and I get up and have my morning coffee, hang out a bit with Eric, and have breakfast. I’ll go for a walk early before it gets too hot, and Eric usually hangs out at the house or goes to the Becker house next door to play. I write from ten to noon, break for lunch, then run errands or do things with Eric until two or so, and then write again until four or five. It’s been great! Gregg comes home and I’ve got dinner made and ready to go. Gregg thinks I’m the perfect wife now! :)

  If I can only convince my publisher to pay me a living salary for my work I’d have it made.

  So that’s what’s been happening here. Nothing too exciting. Well, things with my brother are always crazy (and have gotten crazier with the new girlfriend—man is that a circus!). It’s so crazy I could probably put it into a novel (that’s actually not a bad idea...). If you get a moment at the con, I’ll buy you a beer and tell you all about it.

  See you at the con!

  Elizabeth.

  ELIZABETH WAS STACKING dishes in the dishwasher that evening, Friday night, when Eric told her about what he and Mary saw while they were riding bikes in Mary’s new neighborhood.

  They’d just had dinner and Gregg had helped clear the table. Elizabeth was feeling happy. The summer really was going well for her, both professionally and personally. She and Gregg were connecting better, and they actually spent more time together now than they had been in the past two years. He wasn’t complaining about her writing because she was working on it during the day rather than the evenings. And now that he wasn’t complaining about her writing maybe she could engage him in conversation about it. Royalty time was coming up, and while he was aware that she often made a few hundred dollars for the occasional short story sale to an anthology and her novels paid a few thousand dollars in advances, he had no idea how they were doing sales wise.

  Eric was helping her with the dishes. He was clearing the table, telling her about his day at Mary’s when he paused. “Mom, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure honey. What is it?”

  Eric looked troubled. He set the dish he was drying on the center island and glanced into the living room, as if he were afraid of being overheard. When he turned back to her he looked nervous. “You know Himmler? Diana’s rottweiler?”

  Elizabeth frowned. In the month and a half since Diana and her kids had moved in with Ronnie, she had voiced her concerns to mom about that dog. She felt Himmler was aggressive, and she didn’t like for Eric to be at the house because of it. Diana and Ronnie had convinced mom that Himmler was actually a good dog once he got acquainted with you, so she’d backed down a little. She’d insisted on being at the house the few times Eric went over to play with Mary, and the dog was actually pretty good with her niece; she’d been afraid the animal wouldn’t take to Mary, but he did. Mom had been a little apprehensive at first, but now seemed to be won over. It was the general consensus of the family that influenced Elizabeth to let her guard down and consent to Eric going over without her supervision, something she still struggled with, and now that Eric mentioned Himmler, bearing that funny look on his face, her original feelings came back. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Well...” Eric looked nervous. He squirmed uncomfortably.

  “What happened?”

  Eric looked ashamed, as if he was going to be punished for doing something. “He almost attacked another kid. A kid named Andy who lives four doors down.”

  Hearing this confirmed all her feelings she’d had for the dog. She felt a strange mixture of relief her feelings had been proven right and that somebody would finally listen to her. She also felt a sudden feeling of dread at the implications of what had happened. “What happened? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, Andy’s fine,” Eric said. “It’s just...it was weird. I was in the backyard with Mary and Lily and Himmler was with us. Lily had Himmler on his leash, and he was being real good. And then Andy came by, and when he stepped into their yard Himmler got this funny look. He just...well, he growled at Andy and Andy froze. Mary and I were playing catch with the baseball and she stopped and turned around and said, ‘Hey boy, what’s wrong? It’s just Andy.’ And then Himmler lunged at him. And I mean, he took off. He dragged Lily to the ground and she started screaming. Andy ran and Himmler would have chased after him and got him but then Rick was suddenly there and he grabbed the leash from Lily and pulled, and it took all his strength to pull that dog back. I...I almost wanted to go over and help him because I could see he wa
s struggling to hold the dog back, but I was scared. Mary and I, we were both scared, and we ran a little ways into the neighbor’s back yard and just stood there and watched. Andy...he’d already run home, and Rick got Himmler under control and herded him into the garage and into the house and Mary and I were too scared to go back for a long time.”

  Elizabeth was livid. “What happened next?”

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?” Eric burst into sudden tears.

  “Honey, I’m not mad at you.” Elizabeth pulled her son to her, hugging him. She smoothed his hair back, kissed him. He cried briefly, and she could tell his tears were from the pent-up fear he experienced back at Ronnie’s. “I’m not mad at you. If anything, I’m mad at Diana. All she did the first two weeks she moved in was brag about how viscous that damn dog was, like it was something to be proud of, and look what happened. Andy could have been killed.”

  “I know,” Eric said, his sobs trickling down. He wiped his face with his hands. “He’s okay though. Mary and I, we went over to see if he was okay. His mom was mad, though. She called over at Ronnie and Diana’s and chewed Diana out over the phone.”

  “Good.”

  “She didn’t even look at us. She told Andy he wasn’t allowed to play with us until Diana got rid of that dog, so we left. Mary said Himmler was probably in the basement, so we went in the house.” Diana had taken to locking Himmler in a large cage in the unfinished basement during the day; might as well put the dog in a kennel. “Diana and Lily and Rick were acting like nothing happened. Himmler was in the basement like Mary said, but they weren’t...they weren’t even bothered by what happened.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Rick was playing some kind of computer game and Diana was on the phone,” Eric said. He looked up at Elizabeth and she nodded, understanding what he was getting at. Every time she and Eric went over, Diana was either on the phone, or she was sitting in front of the computer surfing the Internet. She chain smoked Marlboro’s and drank Diet Coke constantly. Lily had to practically beg to be fed, and when Diana did feed her it was usually something out of a can, unheated. She’d never seen Diana prepare anything for her son, or for Ronnie for that matter. Ronnie was never around since he was always working at the plant. The plan was for Diana to stay home during the summer and look for a job once the kids were in school, giving Ronnie relief on the overtime. Elizabeth had a feeling Diana had found her meal ticket in Ronnie, however, and wasn’t going to do anything except sit on her skinny ass.