by J. Thorn
“It’s all a prison.”
The sentence could not be mistaken for random noise. Drew sat back on the couch and closed his eyes. He felt swirls of red passing beneath his closed eyelids and a slight buzz in his extremities that caused his fingers to tingle. His mouth went dry and his tongue turned into a wad of cotton.
“What is?” He heard his words but could not tell if they originated from his mouth or from the charged ether of the room.
“All of it.” The voice delivered the words with perfect diction, but as if spoken from the bottom of a well. Each syllable resonated and reverberated with mathematical precision.
“I don’t understand,” Drew replied, this time certain he had spoken the words and not thought them.
“You will. Now that we have been introduced, there are important things that must be done.”
Drew put both hands on his ears. He had to convince himself that he was not wearing headphones, listening to a psychedelic recording that pushed the audio back and forth across the stereo field. The voice bounced from left to right as if a cyclone of sound swirled around his head. “I’m coming apart. Again.”
A slight sigh brushed past Drew’s nose. His eyes saw nothing but the darkness of the witching hour holding dominion in his living room.
“I can help you.”
“Where do I begin?” Drew asked.
“The temptress,” replied the voice, the last syllable trailing away like the hiss of a serpent.
***
Drew awoke by leaping out of bed. He leaned over and kissed Molly on the cheek, something that all but extinguished around year seven of the marriage. She opened one eye and smiled before turning over and hitting the snooze button on her side of the alarm.
He smoothed down the collar and fixed his tie in the mirror. A set of bright eyes and a slightly upturned smile looked back. Drew pulled Billy and Sara’s doors shut to give them another thirty minutes of sleep before they had to get ready for school. He bounced down the steps, mumbling the melody of a long-forgotten tune from the 1940s big band era. He never listened to the Benny Goodman stuff, but his grandfather loved it. Drew remembered going to his grandparents’ place every Sunday and thumbing through his grandfather’s record collection. The album covers intrigued him more than the music. The big band and jazz records celebrated sadness that promoted a good mood, a paradox lost on children.
***
The sedan cruised towards the off-ramp like it had hundreds of times before. Drew steered the vehicle with the slight guidance of his left hand while the right fumbled through the controls on his MP3 player jacked into the car’s stereo system. He scanned through the folders and hit the play button on the Dropkick Murphys.
Irish punk-drunk rock, he thought.
He ripped the volume knob to eight and basked in the fast-paced, bagpipe-laden motif of Boston’s finest. With Bob Marley and the Dropkicks on his player, it was difficult to feel down for long.
He grabbed his travel mug, messenger bag, and gloves as he skipped through the set of revolving doors of the office building. Drew smiled at the others in the elevator, even those hammering away on their smartphones and BlackBerrys. He hummed “Jump Jive an’ Wail” as the cable tightened and pulled the occupants into the upper reaches of the building.
***
“Resigned?”
“Quit.”
“Same difference. How did you find out?”
“Got the whole department buzzing. Haven’t you been to the break room yet?”
Drew shook his head, indicating that he had not been part of the rumor buzz infiltrating the floor. “What’s the scoop?” he asked Brian.
Brian sat on the edge of Drew’s desk. He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if divulging top-secret, highly classified information. “Johnson found a letter of resignation on his desk this morning. Her desk is cleaned out.”
“What did it say?”
“Something about a family situation that ‘demanded immediate attention’ and that she regretted leaving this way.”
“She doesn’t have family. I thought she was an only child and her parents were dead?”
Brian sipped from his coffee and exhaled a satisfied breath. “Extended family?” he asked Drew.
“None that I know of,” Drew replied.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that she printed out her resignation? Why not email it or leave a voice mail? I know that it’s more professional to write a letter, but if you quit like this I’m not sure what good a hard copy does ya.”
Drew contemplated what Brian said and shook his head. “I’m sure details will emerge. She had friends in the department, right?”
“Yep. Leave it to me, hoss. Next happy hour at Sully’s I’ll get the scoop from Brooke or Jen. Even if I have to sleep with them to get it.”
“You’re such a team player. Always willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of the whole.”
Brian smiled and slapped Drew on the shoulder. “Somebody’s gotta do it,” he said and walked off towards his cubicle.
Drew hit the power button on his computer and saw the dark reflection of his own smile in the black screen. I knew today felt like a good day, he thought.
***
Molly set the crock of soup on the table. Drew’s eyes became the size of the saucers underneath the bowls. He grabbed the ladle and dipped it deep into the pot.
“Thanks, hon. What a perfect ending to a fantastic day.”
Molly grinned and her shoulders lifted. Sara and Billy looked at their mom and caught the contagious wave of relief. “Something at the office? New client?”
Drew reached for the bag of crackers with one hand and delivered a generous dousing of Tabasco sauce with the other. “Office, yes. Something unexpected.”
“Don’t tease us. Did you get a raise?”
“Nope,” Drew said with Molly’s famous tortilla soup running down his chin. “Vivian quit.”
Billy and Sara lost interest in the conversation and began seeing how many crackers they could fit into their mouths at one time.
“Oh,” replied Molly while her hands busied with napkins and unused cutlery.
“Yeah. She left a letter of resignation, cleaned out her desk, and that was that. Something about a ‘family emergency’ is buzzing around the office.”
“Is she okay?” Molly asked.
“What the fuck do you care?” Drew asked. His spoon hit the bottom of the bowl, sending a wave of liquid tomato over the side and onto the table.
Molly squirmed in her seat and looked at her lap. She began to answer but then stopped.
“I said what the fuck do you care!”
Billy and Sara ran from the table, abandoning the second round of the cracker competition.
“You’re scaring the kids,” Molly whispered.
“That cunt is gone. Period.” Drew took a napkin from the table and wiped the spilled soup with the hands of a surgeon. He smiled at Molly and tilted his head to one side. “Great soup, hon. Really, this is incredible.”
Molly stood and pushed her chair away from the table. Her arms clicked into waitress mode as she cleared the dirty dishes and took them into the kitchen. Drew exhaled and looked out the window over the snow-covered backyard. The swing in the tree bobbed back and forth at the whim of the wind. He stood and walked into the kitchen, coming up behind Molly at the sink. Drew wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his chin in her hair. The scent of jasmine and woman aroused him.
“Please don’t. The kids are—“
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up like that. After all the grief that woman caused me, I just thought you’d be happy.”
Molly turned to face Drew. She focused on his chin rather than his eyes. “Of course I’m glad she’s out of your office. I didn’t mean to sound unsupportive.”
“Let’s just forget about her. If she was okay to write the letter I’m sure she’s getting the help she needed.”
Drew released Molly and put the dis
hes into the dishwasher. He dug the cold, wet food from the sink drain and wiped the counter, the meal tasks he knew Molly despised. She smiled and raised her eyes to the ceiling, to their bedroom directly above the kitchen.
“Kids! Time to get ready for bed,” Drew yelled with a spreading grin on his face.
Chapter 5
“Thank you and welcome to Channel 7 News. I’m your anchor, Melanie Sampson, and this is our top story. Authorities have discovered the mutilated body of a woman in the Crooked Tail River. Officers on the scene are not releasing details as a full investigation is under way. However, we have Nan Roles on the scene. Nan, what can you tell us?”
“Well, Melanie, what we do know is that a woman’s badly mutilated body has been discovered by two hunters who were camping along the Crooked Tail River. They first noticed a bra stuck on a branch, and when they got closer, they saw the body.”
“Yeah, we was camping there over that ridge. The whitetail trails run right through it. Anyway, we was gettin’ ready to head out for the day when Earl saw somethin’ stuck on the tree. At first he thought it was one a dem plastic shopping bags, but then we’d figured out it was a lady’s undergarments. Kinda strange all the way out here, so we stomped through the snow to take a closer look. When we get a few feet away, I seen her ankle and knew it was trouble. That’s when Earl took out his cell and called the sheriff.”
“Thank you, Sir. So, Melanie, the authorities are tight lipped right now, as you would expect. They have not released any information on the victim pending an identification. One officer on the scene told me that the woman is middle aged, naked, and in ‘pretty bad shape.’ We’ll be on the scene as more information becomes available.”
“Thanks, Nan. Have they declared a cause of death? Could this have been an accident?”
“Doubtful, Melanie. The victim appears to have defensive wounds. As of now, the police are treating this as a crime scene, no doubt awaiting word from the coroner as to whether or not to declare it a homicide.”
“Thanks, Nan. We will certainly keep tabs on this developing story and bring you updates as we get them. Earlier today, several city officials broke ground on the new community center, slated to open this coming. . . . ”
***
Drew stared at the ceiling, listening to Molly’s faint noises, the soft moans she made after an orgasm. He put his hands behind his head while sliding them underneath the pillow into the cool sheets.
He was tired from the day, exhausted from the sex, but somehow anticipating the arrival of the conversation. Drew threw the blankets to the side and swung his legs off the edge of the bed as if greeting the day. He strutted through the dark bedroom and down the stairs, carefully avoiding racecars and building blocks left by the kids. The couch beckoned under the glow of the laptop screen, which cast a bluish haze across the room. He put his legs up on the couch and waited. It did not take long before he was rewarded with what he came for.
“Better?”
Drew shook his head, knocking locks of hair from his eyes. He pushed them away and smelled Molly on his hands. “She can be so ungrateful sometimes.”
“As was Eve in the Garden,” said the voice. Although Drew had become accustomed to the gravely, wavering sound, he had to strain to understand each word. It took great effort, which often left him too tired to return to bed and scrambling for an excuse to tell Molly as to why he hadn’t.
“I saw the news.” Drew waited, but the voice did not reply to the statement.
“What did you see?” it finally asked.
“The woman found in the river.” Again, no reply. Drew felt the lull of sleep and fought to continue the conversation. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“It was us,” came the reply.
Drew felt the air leave his lungs and ran a hand across his face, feeling the burn of the blood under his skin. “I’m not capable of that. I’m no murderer.”
“We have all been killed,” came the reply. “We have all been killers.”
“Will you tell me who you are?” Drew asked.
“I will tell you a story. Close your eyes.”
Drew did as instructed and his body dropped into a deep, still sleep.
Chapter 6
Drew winced. The voice came from everywhere as it narrated the dream sequence. He recognized the fact that he was asleep and yet was powerless to wake from it.
“Landed at night. The cicadas drowned the noise of our boots. Tanks settled into positions but it was the grunts, the foot soldiers like me who would take the brunt of the invasion. Before Truman ordered the H-bomb, most generals believed we needed to take each island, one at a time. No matter what the history books say, that was never gonna happen. They wanted the gooks fried and it didn’t make any difference how much American blood was spilled to do it.
“I reached for a smoke off my helmet, ducked low in the trench to light it so I wouldn’t be the target of a sniper. You wouldn’t think that tiny pinpoint of light would make a difference, but those fucking jungles got dark as hell. The flash of a lighter might cost ya yer life. The worst part of war is the waitin’. Had orders to sit in the trenches until daylight. Once the sun came up we’d be marched through the jungle to take out the one or two Jap outposts that still had ammunition. Believe me when I say that the Vietnam vets were not the first to deal with the jungle rot.
“At daybreak we marched inland. If ya turned around to face the beach you’d thought a hula girl would come running out with a coconut drink in her hand. I was never able to relax on any beach after serving in the Pacific. That shit ruined it for the rest of my life. Couldn’t enjoy the sound of the surf, the salty breeze, or the bronze skin of fine skirts. I remember staring at the ammo strap of the grunt in front of me. Jessup was his name, some hick from Alabama. He had the broadest shoulders I had ever seen and I thought if I stayed tucked behind ’em, I’d be fine.
“I wanted nothing more than to git home to my girl. She’d been waiting for me for three years. Ain’t like it is today, when the whores be spreading their legs for any cock that comes along. In those days, loyalty meant something. When she told me she’d be true, I never questioned it.”
Drew squinted from the burning glare of the dream sun reflecting off of the wide greenery of the Asian jungle. He heard the military cadence of the march and the fatigue of the terrain made his muscles ache.
“We marched for hours. Not like the dusty trails in basic training. No, not at all. We marched through fucking jungle. The machetes of the men in the front dulled after three or four minutes, which meant others rotated up while the first group sharpened the blades. We was lucky if that’s all we had to deal with. You see, they had these serpents that lived in the trees on the island. The snakes would drop down and sink fangs into your neck and you’d be paralyzed before you hit the ground. The venom would shut ya down, one organ at a time so you could smell your own decay. I never had to worry ‘bout that. I threw my machete in the ocean ‘fore we got on ground. I’d rather die than chop weeds. I came to kill gooks, not plants.
“I saw the ridge as we got closer. Caves jutted from the hillside and openings stared black like missing teeth. We knew the snipers were in there. Nobody had to say it. By this time, ya got so tired, thirsty, and hot, you was ready to kill some gooks. That aggression had to go somewhere. Somebody had to pay.
“Jessup stopped and checked his rifle. He made sure the thing was loaded. I did the same, grabbing the base of the bayonet and making sure it wasn’t loose. I lost a bayonet in the gut of a gook one time. Had to fish it out with my bare hands. Those Jap fuckers smell worse on the inside than they do on the outside. The sergeant motioned for the men to fan out, go shoulder to shoulder up the ridge rather than single file. I kept Jessup close in case I saw a grenade coming out of them caves. Figure I could dive behind that big motherfucker and save my own ass.
“The sun abused us. It glared down, boring through my eyes like forged flame. The moisture of the jungle would rot yer toes l
ike rancid meat. It was hard to believe the gooks thought these islands would be worth their lives, but they did. They fought every last one of us, down to the slashing of their throats, if that’s what it took.
“I put my sight on the nearest cave opening and started towards the ridge. Our company didn’t get but three clicks in ‘fore the first mortar rounds went off. I saw the explosions before I heard ’em. Ducked low, like they train us to do. Company behind us got hit with it. Seen body parts rainin’ down like fireworks on the fourth of July. Heard men crying for their mamas, their wives, and their god. I had to laugh at that. Their god was gonna help them as much as their woman could, by which I mean not at all.
“The explosions broke our company and we scattered like dung beetles under the boot. I think I shot two or three Jap fucks before the jungle got so dense that we went hand to hand. I knew I had to keep moving up, take the ridge, and I was willing to step on as many corpses as I needed to get there. Always sayin’ that war makes brothers out of men, but I ain’t had no brothers on that day. It was my life and I was going to save it no matter what. Guess that’s why I ain’t never earned no medal like some of dem other boys. Of course, once they got home those medals didn’t mean shit. They didn’t mean shit in the war neither. Other than the moment the brass pinned it to your chest, they was basically useless.
“The blood vessels in a man’s face burst before his heart gives out. You can watch it happen when you’re strangling the life out of some poor sonofabitch. The gooks always murmured something, praying to their heathen god or maybe asking for their mama in their own Jap tongue. Never got in the way of finishing the job. The first two men that came out of the jungle met their maker at my hand. Blood would dull the bayonet and so I wanted to save that for when the shit got real heavy. I could usually take ’em down with a stiff jab to the nose. Once they fell, I’d drive my knee into the throat while my hands wrapped around their neck. War is about killing efficiently, not wasting energy on unnecessary pain or mercy. Fuck that. I killed as quickly as I could.