Eleven Hours

by Paullina Simons

  “Why would something horrible happen to you, Didi?”

  “I mean, something either to me or the baby.”

  He got mad then. “Why would something happen to the baby? I don’t even like you saying that out loud.”

  Didi tried to explain. “Leslie is still in the hospital. She hasn’t seen her son, and she is so sick that it’s taking her forever to get better. I mean, how often do you think these things happen? A raging infection the doctors can’t cure?”

  “It happens, Didi, it happens,” Rich said impatiently. “But what does it have to do with you?”

  “Wait, listen. And now this thing with Joan. Have you ever heard of anything more awful?”

  “No,” Rich said. “I haven’t.”

  “That’s right. It’s the worst thing in the world. I mean, just imagine if something awful like that happened to us.”

  “I don’t want you talking like that, Didi,” Rich shouted.

  “No, but listen, omigod, this is exactly what I mean,” she said tearfully. “Do you remember last year, when I had all those car accidents? I plowed into a Nissan’s rear end, not a mile from our house? It was fate. I stop at that light a thousand times a year, but that one time I couldn’t stop. I mean, just fate. And then the next day, I’m driving the rental car through the parking lot of the supermarket and bam, I get too close to the illegally parked truck and swipe its bumper right off. I mean, yes, he was parked in a fire lane facing the wrong way, and yes, it was night and hard to see and the road was narrow, but we rent a car all the time when we go to Florida and that never happens.”

  Rolling his eyes, Rich said, “That’s what I love about you, Didi—you chalk off your auto—how shall I say?—mishaps to fate.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “As opposed to what?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly. “What are you getting at?”

  “Richie, you know how bad things come in threes.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Everybody knows that. All sorts of things come in threes. Like death around Christmastime. Have you noticed that it’s always not one celebrity but three that die right around Christmastime? Remember how a few years ago Jill Ireland died, and then Sammy Davis, Jr., and then Jim Henson? That’s the kind of thing I meant.”

  “Didi, this is crazy. What the hell are you talking about?”

  He went into the bathroom. She followed him. He said, “Look, this is silly. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Besides, with the car, it was only two bad things.”

  “Wrong!” she exclaimed. “I was so paranoid, I was looking for that third thing, and do you remember what happened?”

  “No,” he said tiredly, putting toothpaste on his brush and running it under the water. “What happened?”

  “I pulled away from our house, and when I made a right at the light, my door swung open, and I almost fell out.”

  He brushed his teeth, and she stood behind him listening to him gargle and rinse. Then he turned the water off and dried his face. “Didi, Didi, Didi. Where are you going with this?”

  “Maybe I’m the third link in a chain of bad things that are going to happen in the universe at this time, and I’m next. Something bad is going to happen to me or the baby.”

  “Oh my God.” Rich laughed. “Didi, so what are you saying, that something terrible is going to happen to the baby because you crashed the family car last year? Our insurance went up three times, isn’t that punishment enough?”

  “Be serious—”

  “I am serious,” Rich interrupted her. “Listen to me,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and kissing her nose. “Listen. It makes me mad just to hear you talk like this. So your friends had some bad experiences. I’m sorry for that. But why do you think the cosmic universe is going to finish off with you? Maybe Leslie was the second link in the chain and Joan the third. I mean, what do you think, the universe revolves around you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “My universe does. They’re my friends and something terrible happened to them and now something terrible is going to happen to me.”

  “Yes, but this baby is mine, too. So how are your friends connected to me? Why does their bad karma have to all of a sudden end in a third anything with me? Can’t you see it’s silly? It has nothing to do with you. Your life and mine, it goes on. Their bad thing didn’t happen to you, Didi. It happened to them. It really doesn’t affect us.”

  “That’s not true,” she said.

  “Of course you feel bad—”

  “I feel terrible—”

  “Of course you do. But this is not karma, this is not a circle of horror. Their cosmic karma has nothing to do with ours. I’ve been a decent man, and God is not going to end the circle of badness with me.”

  Didi said, “It’s just the way the universe moves. In threes.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed, walking away from her into the bedroom. She followed him, her belly heaving. “Didi, listen, nothing bad is going to happen to you or the baby. Trust me on this. Besides, I know two guys at work who just had babies and their babies are fine and healthy and their wives are too. So I think I’m third in that chain of good things.”

  Didi didn’t say anything for a while. Then she said, “Just like you to think the universe revolves around you.”

  She felt better.

  * * *

  Didi thought of the water that had run between Rich’s fingers as he washed his face and gargled. That sweet softened purified water. If only she could have some water now, she would feel better about everything.

  Not only did bad things happen in threes, Didi thought, but they actually gathered momentum. With the cars it was different. The karmic momentum was strongest with the first crash, lost some power with the bumper swipe, and was nearly extinguished with the freely swinging car door. Here, the karma made Leslie very sick, killed Joan’s baby, and was still swirling in fury around her, darkening her universe.

  Didi opened her eyes and gasped. She saw a police car, parked on her side of the road.

  Oh, God! Please, please, please. She peeked at the speedometer. Damn. They were moving slow and steady at sixty on a two-lane highway. She wouldn’t dare turn around. She counted. Twenty seconds passed. That it may please You, we beseech You to hear us, good Lord, prayed Didi.

  She glanced at Lyle, who was lost in country music. He wasn’t looking in the rearview mirror.

  And then Didi heard the wail of a police siren.

  * * *

  Lyle was not slowing down. When Didi looked over at him, he was still staring straight at the road. She wanted him to stop for the cop.

  “Lyle?” she said gently. “Lyle?”

  He came out of it then. His head shuddered slightly, and he blinked. “What is it?”

  “The police, Lyle,” Didi said. “They’re behind you.”

  He stared at her for a moment with a mixture of fear and anger.

  “What did you do?” he cried.

  Hoping sweet relief wasn’t showing on her face, she said, “Nothing, Lyle. I was sitting here, thinking. Just like you.”

  “You weren’t thinking, you were praying,” he spat. “And I wasn’t thinking, my bologna. I was driving.” The menacing expression left his face and he looked less anxious. Slowing the car down, Lyle said, “Let’s see what the nice police officer wants.” Didi saw him stick his hand in his pocket, pull out his gun, and release the safety lever. He gently put the gun between his legs and covered it with his thighs. Then he pulled over, put the gearshift into park, and waited.

  Didi waited too. The sun blazed into her eyes. They were parked on the side of an empty road near a burnt-out fallow field. Didi’s heart was pounding. She started to pant and placed her hands on her belly.

  “Stop panting,” he said, without looking at her.

  “Sorry,” she said, and closed her mouth. “Can’t breathe.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” he said. “Don’t breathe, for all I care. Just s
top panting.”

  Didi tried. She held her breath. A few moments later she released it in a mad exhalation.

  The patrol car was behind them, and without turning around, Didi knew from being stopped for speeding that the cop was calling in the license plate number on his radio, to see who owned the truck. Her heart sank a little lower in her chest when she remembered that the Taurus plates were still on the Taurus. These plates were registered to Smokey. Didi didn’t want to think about it. Yes, Lyle should have followed the law. He shouldn’t have broken it.

  They sat and waited. Finally Lyle rolled down the window. Didi sucked her breath in and then let it out again in a great whoosh. She felt as if she had been running and couldn’t get her breath back. Baby, baby, baby, she thought.

  The police officer came up to the truck.

  “Hello, officer,” Lyle said politely. “What seems to be the problem? Was I going too fast?”

  The officer peered into the truck, not looking at Lyle at all, staring right at Didi. “Is everything all right, ma’am?” he asked in a concerned voice. “Your hand is bleeding.”

  She panted twice before she answered. “Oh, this, it’s nothing. I accidentally cut myself. I’m fine, thanks.”

  The officer looked over at Lyle. “May I see your license and registration, sir?” He was a very young patrolman. Didi noticed he looked as if he had barely started shaving. She saw a wedding band on his left hand as he leaned toward the window.

  “Sure, of course,” said Lyle.

  Didi looked intensely at the officer. She wanted to mouth “Help me” to him, but then thought that if things didn’t go right, and the cop asked her to repeat herself in front of Lyle, all would be lost, and the young man would lose his life and she hers too. She sat and stared.

  Lyle was fumbling with his license, stuck in his back pants pocket. “Here it is,” he said finally, laughing lightly. “Knew I had it somewhere.”

  “And the registration and proof of insurance, sir,” the police officer said patiently.

  “Ah, yes, the registration. Well, you know, I just bought this truck, and haven’t had a chance to get it registered yet.”

  “Is this vehicle insured?” said the police officer.

  “Yes, yes, it is.”

  Didi knew that driving without insurance was a big no-no in Texas. But oddly, the officer couldn’t have known anything about the vehicle when he pulled Lyle over. He didn’t know it wasn’t insured. “It’s insured through my previous vehicle for thirty days, isn’t that right?” Lyle said, grimacing. Didi didn’t see his face, but she saw his hand on his thigh.

  Lyle turned to Didi, his gaze boring into her. “Darling, could you look in the glove compartment for the insurance card, please?”

  Didi leaned over.

  The policeman waited.

  She opened the latch and looked in. There was nothing in there.

  “Nothing here,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said. “Must be in one of my pockets. Let me take another look.”

  The policeman waited.

  “Can’t seem to find it, officer,” Lyle said easily, shrugging his shoulders. “Thought it was right in my back pocket.”

  “Could you have left it in your other car, honey?” said Didi. “The one we traded for this one?”

  Lyle slowly turned and looked at her. She gazed back at him innocently, panting and holding on to the Belly.

  “I think that’s what I probably did,” he said to the officer. “I guess you’ll just have to write me up. Sorry about that.”

  The officer moved away from the door and said, “Could you please step out of the vehicle, sir?”

  Didi saw the back of Lyle’s head and his hand on his lap. “Why?” he said sharply. “I mean, is everything all right, officer?”

  “Everything is fine, sir. Could you please step out of the vehicle?”

  “Step out of the vehicle,” Lyle repeated. “Yes, yes, sure. Of course.” He placed his left hand on the door handle and Didi heard it click open. “Right away, officer.”

  And with his right hand, he raised his gun to the open window and shot the policeman in the face.

  * * *

  It seemed to Didi that the policeman flew back several feet before he landed heavily on the highway.

  She screamed. She saw his legs convulsing, and she couldn’t help herself. She screamed again.

  Lyle, without even turning to her, said, “Shut up!” and hit her in the face with the butt of his gun. Her brow split open.

  Didi didn’t faint; she felt as if she were standing under a red waterfall. Then she couldn’t see; she thought she was going blind. She forgot about the police officer.

  She heard Lyle shout, “Shut up!” She didn’t think she was saying anything, but she closed her blood-filled mouth.

  Didi spit the blood out onto her dress. She wiped her face. No use. The blood was pouring out of her brow.

  Didi felt Lyle stick something into her face. “Here, wipe yourself with this,” Didi heard Lyle say. “Get yourself together. I’m going to need your help.”

  Didi knew her help was needed., The cop was lying on the road. One passing car, and he’d be cut in two. The driver would turn around and call 911, and the cops would be all over them in five minutes. Lyle needed a head start. He couldn’t leave the cop on the road, Didi knew that. This wasn’t in his plans, and it would slow him down.

  Whatever Didi could do to slow him down, she would do.

  As she wiped herself with the rag he’d given her, she was thinking despondently, there’s nowhere to go from here. He shot a cop. He kidnapped me and shot a cop, there is nowhere for him to go, no one will let him go with a warning anymore. No one will let him go now to save me. They’ll want his blood here in Texas and they won’t rest till they have it.

  Belatedly Didi realized the rag had been used by the Toyota’s past owner to wipe oil off the dipstick. She squinted with her one good eye to see if there was a clean portion of the cloth. There wasn’t. It smelled foul. Pressing the towel against her brow, she wished she were lying unconscious.

  Then Didi felt her baby move. Amazed and heartened, she tried to pull herself together.

  “What can I do?” she said.

  Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he said, “Clean yourself up. We’ll be going in a little while.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “You and your whining. Now look what you’ve done to yourself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Didi said automatically, realizing not only didn’t she mean it, but as she was saying I’m sorry, she was thinking fuck you. Didi was a religious person, and yet here she was, cursing at a sinner. Fuck you, she repeated to herself, and oddly felt better.

  Lyle got out of the truck, quickly walked to the police officer, and dragged him by his feet down the embankment in front of the Toyota. A car whizzed by as soon as he was finished. Then Lyle left the officer and walked to the patrol car. Through the rearview mirror Didi watched him as he turned off the police lights. For a second, she was filled with insane hope that maybe he would drive off and leave her here, God, please—

  Lyle ran back to the dead officer and began dragging the body into the field. Didi watched him, wondering if he had left the keys in the police car and if she could run fast enough to drive away before he came back.

  She thought, what do I have to lose, and then the baby kicked again and she placed her hand on the Belly and sat still in the car.

  If Lyle could shoot a police officer, he could shoot me. It’s the death penalty for killing a police officer once they catch him. If they catch him.

  The police officer had been detrimental to Lyle’s plan, and that’s why he had died. But Didi was instrumental to Lyle’s plan, she began to realize. That would explain his resistance to killing and abandoning her.

  She held no illusions. She knew he could always kill her, disappear into Big Bend for two months, and then get himself another woman at another mall.

  She sat a
nd waited, watching Lyle drag the man’s body farther into the field of high grass. He must have found a drainage pit, because Didi couldn’t see the police officer anymore, just Lyle.

  She said a prayer for the officer’s soul. Almighty God, look on this Your servant, and comfort him with the promise of life everlasting, Amen. But Didi said it as rote, as she sometimes said prayers while thinking of other things. And that’s how she felt now. She was praying for him, but thinking of other things.

  He needs a minister to ease him into eternity, and all he’s got is me. And I’m no good.

  As the day wore on and became evening, and she faced the prospect of darkness with Lyle, Didi felt less concerned for other people. Less concerned for her two baby girls. Less concerned for her husband. He was not trying to keep a baby alive, himself alive. He was not thirsty.

  I was at the NorthPark Mall on the wrong day at the wrong time. That was the reason the officer was dead, and probably Johnny too. Because she had gone to the NorthPark Mall. Who will be next? she thought. What innocent person will die next because of me?

  Lyle returned wearing the dead man’s uniform. Didi felt briefly but sharply sick. He took clothes off a dead man’s back, she thought with revulsion.

  “Okay, get your bags out of the truck and let’s go.” The clothes were too wide for Lyle and too long, but he had cuffed the pants and adjusted the holster. The uniform was covered with dust and dirt from the road and dry grass from the field. When Lyle turned to the window, Didi noticed that the back of the dark blue shirt was moist with blood. Some of it had smeared off on Lyle’s neck. He took bloody clothes off a dead man’s back. Didi wondered if Lyle had gone mad.

  She said, “We’re changing cars again?”

  “Yes, we’re changing cars again,” he said. “We need to be safe.”

  Didi slowly got out of the truck. “I can’t get my stuff,” she said to him. “I can’t reach it. Forget it. Leave it.”

  “Oh, no, no, pretty Didi,” said Lyle, pushing her out of the way. She stumbled on the embankment and fell sideways. The rag fell out of her hands. She quietly groaned and pressed her hand to her eye. The gash oozed more blood.

  While Lyle pulled out the bags, Didi struggled to her feet. When he turned to look at her, he smiled and said, “It’s a good thing you’re not a hemophiliac.”