The 8 Mistakes of Amy Maxwell

by Heather Balog

  “Can I use your phone to call Roger?” I ask. “I have to let him know that Evan needs his antibiotic at 8:00 and to put the humidifier on in Colt’s room if we’re not going to be home by bedtime. Oh and Lexie needs a garbage pail by her bed because if she’s throwing up all night, she won’t get out of bed and will end up puke all over the floor if there is no garbage can-”

  “No can do,” Jason interrupts me. “I can’t have you calling Roger. The local police will explain to him that we’ve taken you to a safe place and that he shouldn’t worry.”

  “But I have to explain to him what he has to do for the kids,” I wail, tears stinging my eyes for the first time this evening. “You don’t understand! He has no clue how to take care of them!”

  “Sorry,” Jason replies with a shrug. “I’m sure they’ll survive. I can’t give you my phone. I don’t know if it’s being tapped or traced. We can’t tip anyone off to where we are going.”

  I take a deep inhale. Typical male. He is not understanding the seriousness of the situation. Roger literally has no idea how to take care of his own children. He needs a play by play manual just to watch them when I go to the grocery store. There is a very good chance that out of three children, at least one will be missing, permanently deformed or dead by the time I get home. If I get home from where ever we are going.

  “Where are we going, if you don’t mind my asking?” I inquire sweetly. You get more flies with honey, Amy, I remind myself of my mother’s sage advice.

  “I do mind. You wouldn’t even have to come with us if you hadn’t made it your life’s work to snoop,” is Jason’s retort as he effectively weaves in and out of traffic on Route 1, edging over to the Parkway entrance. I am not a happy camper with his reply. I huff loudly to demonstrate my discord. Jason doesn’t seem to care as he is concentrating on the heavy traffic surrounding us. I peek into the back seat.

  My daughter is continuing to whimper back there, but other than that, you can just about hear a pin drop in the car. Sean and Walter remain completely stone faced, eyes facing forward. Almost as if they have been drugged.

  I whip my head around to glare at Jason. “Don’t you dare drug us!”

  With one eye on the road and one eye staring at me, Jason scowls. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would I drug you? Exactly what kind of person do you think I am?”

  “I have no idea what kind of person you are!” I retort. “I know absolutely nothing about you other than the fact that you are Sean’s father and Walter and Mary’s son.” And wear make-up at the mall.

  “Well, that’s not exactly correct,” comes Walter’s voice from the back seat. Jason groans.

  “We don’t need to get into that now,” Jason warns. I turn to see that Walter has scooted up in the seat and is leaning closer to Jason’s ear. “You have to tell her, son. It’s not fair to drag her along and not tell her.”

  “Not tell me what?” I ask, panic rising in my chest. I am this close to needing a paper bag to breathe into.

  “It’s going to compromise the investigation,” Jason argues, not taking his eyes off of the road.

  “What investigation? Tell me what investigation?” I demand impatiently.

  “Son, the investigation is already compromised. If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be in this car headed to the secret location now,” Walter reasons.

  “What secret location?” I ask, clearly panicked. The men continue to ignore me as they banter back and forth.

  “Yes, but the less they know, the better off they are. It could save their lives,” Jason points out.

  “What could save our lives?” I demand. “Tell me what you’re talking about!” I grab Jason’s shirt sleeve and start shaking his arm. Just for your future reference, it is not a bright idea to shake the driver of your vehicle. It tends to cause them to veer out of their lane. Ooops. My bad. But fortunately, not one of my 8 mistakes.

  “Damn it, Mrs. Maxwell,” Jason yelps as he straightens out the car before we can go careening into oncoming traffic. “Don’t make me put you in the back seat.”

  “I just want to know what’s going on,” I stammer. “I think it’s only fair. I mean, where are we going? I have four kids at home that need to be taken care of. Who’s going to take care of them?”

  “Three,” Allie corrects from the back seat. “I’m here with you, Mom.” Oops. Well, at least she called me Mom instead of Mother.

  Jason sighs. “You do realize that the information I give you could endanger your life. That means it could get you killed-”

  “I know what endanger your life means,” I interrupt. “Stumbling across a dead neighbor could get me killed, too. I’m pretty sure I’m not 100% safe either way at this point so I’d at least like to have an idea of why I’m getting killed if it happens. I like to be well informed. Even in death,” I retort sarcastically.

  Jason appears nervous as he speeds up to pass a car that is puttering along in the middle lane of the highway. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But not until we get there. I don’t want to bring the kids into this. It’s too dangerous for them”

  “Hey!” Allie pipes up, face next to mine as she bounces forward from the backseat. “I’m not a kid! I’m 13.”

  “Then if you’re not a kid, I’m really not a kid,” Sean mutters. It is the first time I heard Sean speak since we got in the car. I have almost forgotten he is there.

  “Absolutely not,” Jason replies. “I will speak with Mrs. Maxwell about the situation, but you two do not need to concern yourselves with it. This is an adult problem. To be solved by adults.”

  “Well I think we have the right to know what’s going on, too,” Allie replies grudgingly as she settles back down, crosses her arms across her chest and stares glumly out the window.

  Jason continues to weave in and out of traffic, driving in the same infuriating manner that Roger does, impatient and dodgy. It must be a man thing. If I wasn’t completely shaken up by the evening’s turn of events already, I probably would be slamming on the imaginary brake.

  “Put your seat belt on,” I tell my daughter before I follow suit and stare out the window, watching the familiar sights fade away as we head off to an unknown destination.

  ~THIRTEEN~

  “What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” Jason tells me as he pats my leg. “But the person you don’t know will,” he adds in an evil voice, pulling off onto a deserted dirt road on the side of the highway. In one swift motion, he reaches down underneath his seat and pulls out a gleaming meat cleaver. He grins devilishly and I notice his lip gloss. His heavily made up eyes sparkle as he throws his head back and cackles.

  Panicking, I turn my head to the back seat, looking for help from Walter, but he is suddenly brandishing his own meat cleaver with the same glint of madness in his eye. He is holding Allie by the hair. She is trying to fight him off to no avail. Sean is cowering on the floor of the back seat, out of the way. I can’t tell whose side he is on.

  “What are you doing?” I screech as I back up against the door. “I thought you were helping us!”

  Jason lets out a maniacally laugh. “You thought wrong then, little lady! You got in the way of our drug ring and now we have to kill you!”

  Walter joins in the laugher. “Hehehehe, we’re going to chop you up and put you in tiny baggies and throw your tiny pieces of flesh into the river!” Both men hoot in synchrony as they sharpen their knives.

  “See, Mom!” Allie calls from the back seat. “I told you so! You never listen to me ever!”

  “I’m sorry, Allie! I guess I will listen to you from now on!” I shout as Jason lurches forward with the meat cleaver…

  I sit up with a start, jostled out of my dream, as the car hits a bump in the road. I quickly glance at Jason who is maneuvering onto a gravel driveway, concentrating on the sharp angle of the turn. He does not have a meat cleaver. Still shaking, I realize I must have fallen asleep, lulled into a dream state by the passing headlights on the highway. It was only a dream, Amy, I re
assure myself. Only a dream.

  Still, I glance around the car nervously. Allie and Sean are both sound asleep, their heads resting on either of Walter’s shoulders. He sits in between them, stoically staring straight ahead, his gnarly hands folded and tucked between his knees. He does not appear to have a meat clever, either. I sigh with relief as I settle back down in my seat.

  We are headed up a steep incline towards a dimly shining light at the top. It appears to be a cabin but there are no street lights on the access road and it is now pitch black out so it’s difficult to see. I glance at the dashboard clock which reads 10:45. Holy shit, it’s late! We are surely out of state by now. We’ve been driving almost five hours! I hope Roger got the kids to bed… The mere thought of Evan, Colt and Lexie chokes me up. Damn, I miss them already.

  “Where are we?” I ask in a raspy, just woke up voice.

  “We’re there,” Jason replies curtly as he pulls up in front of a small cabin with a rickety porch, standing alone on the top of the slope, surrounded by trees. There is an eerie silence in the surroundings; no crickets chirping or whistling of wind through the trees. If this place is supposed to make me feel safer, it’s not doing its job. The desolate surroundings cause me to shudder. Every horror novel I ever read starts with an abandoned cabin in the woods. I can hear the narrator now: Five friends are looking forward to the vacation of their lives. What they don’t know is the abandoned cabin they have rented for their relaxing week at the lake is haunted by a Nazi zombie with a predilection for chainsaws…

  I shake that thought from my head as I climb out of the car, stretching my stiff and cramped legs. I swear I see a shadow flit behind the cabin and I back myself against the car until I realize it is just a raccoon. I sigh with relief.

  My overactive imagination is certainly getting the best of me tonight. Allie, Sean and Walter also climb out of the vehicle, car doors slamming punctuating the otherwise silent surroundings. Jason scurries to the front door, picking through his ring of keys as he walks. The rest of us shuffle awkwardly behind him, not sure what else to do. It isn’t like we have luggage to carry in or anything. We didn’t exactly have time to plan for this little impromptu vacation.

  Jason pushes the door open and it creaks noisily on its hinges, a true to life horror film. I shudder again as we file into the room, one at a time. Jason flicks on a switch, illuminating a low wattage floor lamp. I blink to adjust my eyes to the sudden light and then take in my surroundings.

  The room is sparsely furnished with a threadbare couch that may possibly be a relic from the Lincoln administration, an oversized chair and a warped mahogany coffee table centered between the two. In one corner of the room, there is a heavy oak cabinet/ table with dried and dying flowers in a vase. There are two windows on the same wall as the front door and I assume they look out onto the front yard, but it is too dark to tell and they are covered with a heavy set of mustard colored curtains that remind me of the ones that hung in my grandmother’s living room. There is 1970s wood paneling lining the walls; I assume to give it a “log cabin” feel, but instead, it’s giving me a retro, sick to my stomach feeling. The floor is hardwood, scuffed up and worn, splinters visible to the naked eye as it groans laboriously under foot as we pile into the room.

  Allie is the first one to speak. “Well, I don’t like this at all.” She scrunches up her nose, quite possibly from the smell of garbage that is wafting out of the small kitchenette to the right of the door. In the kitchenette, there is a puce green stove, matching fridge, and a breakfast nook with a cream Formica top and several stools pushed underneath it. There is an empty water bottle sitting in the middle of the otherwise empty nook countertop.

  “God damn it,” Jason swears under his breath as he stomps over to the garbage can. He knocks the lid off and quickly turns his head to the side with disgust. “God damn pigs. They can’t even clean up their own crap,” he mutters as he ties the garbage bag up. He tugs it out of the pail and marches past us. The bag is dripping from the bottom, leaving a slimy brown trail from the can to the door. We all turn our heads away as he walks by and Allie makes a gagging noise as Jason bounds out the door, presumably towards the outside garbage can.

  Oh please dear God don’t let her throw up, I silently pray. Allie gagging reminds me that Lexie is sick and I feel a pang in my chest.

  I really hope Roger is taking good care of her. I hope he made her tea and remembered that she likes honey in it instead of sugar. Oh, and that she likes the crust on toast, even though she insists that we cut the crust off of her sandwiches. And she likes the butter melted in the toaster oven, not spread on after the bread has been toasted. Did he know that? Has he called the police yet? I’m sure he realized we were gone, but have the police come to him and told him what happened to Mary?

  It is killing me that I have no idea what is going on in my own house. Deep down inside, I know Roger has to be capable of taking care of the children once he realizes he has no other choice, but I am also concerned what he knows about our whereabouts. Is he worried? Did the police tell him where we are? Do the police even know where we are?

  I have a lot of questions for Jason when he comes back in. Meanwhile, I have to clean up that smelly garbage juice trail. I spy a roll of paper towels on the counter and grab it, attempting to rip off a sheet. There is exactly one sheet left. I sigh as I fold it in half to protect my hand from the skanky spill and I proceed to get down on my knees to clean it up.

  While I am doing that, Walter moves towards the kitchen and swings open the door to the ancient looking fridge. After peering inside, he shakes his head with disgust and slams the door shut. Then he reaches over the counter and opens the cabinets one by one.

  Jason steps back into the house and rubbing his hands together, he remarks, “It’s getting cold out there.”

  “They didn’t restock,” Walter comments with a scowl on his face.

  “Damn it. I gave them plenty of warning!” Jason yells, face contorting with anger.

  “Well, give it time-” Walter starts to say.

  “No!” Jason snaps. “I gave them four hours notice, per protocol, and they still didn’t stock up. What are they gonna do? Wake up the whole house at 3:00 in the fucking morning and start throwing meat in the freezer? I’ve got two kids here for God’s sake. They’re going to be starving in the morning and I’ve got no food for them. I’ve got nothing! And the assholes from last week left their garbage here. I’m pissed.” He picks up the empty water bottle from the nook and flings it against the wall in the kitchen. It clatters to the ground, but not before leaving an indentation in the sheetrock. “I’m so sick and tired of this shit!”

  He plops down onto one of the stools and leans on the table top, cradling his head in his hands. I can hear the unmistakable sound of crying as his shoulders rock along with his sobs.

  We are all silent and still. Walter bows his head and Sean pokes at the floorboards with the tip of his shoe, leaving me and Allie staring at each other with what do we do looks on our faces. This is certainly an awkward moment for all of us.

  Finally, after what feel like an eternity, Walter takes a step forward and gently places his worn hands on Jason’s broad shoulders. “I know how hard this is, buddy,” Walter tells Jason, while rubbing his shoulders. It seems odd that the man who has just lost his wife is comforting his son. Or whoever he is.

  “I’m so tired of this happening over and over, Walt! I can’t seem to get it right! No matter how hard I try, I fail them every single time. I can’t keep doing-” Jason’s cries become muffled.

  Walter turns to me and speaks authoritatively. “There are two bedrooms at the end of the hall. I’m sorry there are no pajamas or toothbrushes right now, but they should be bringing some clothes and toiletries first thing in the morning. Why don’t you guys go pick a room and settle down for the night? Sean can room with me and Jason.”

  Not meaning to come off as rude, but accomplishing it anyway, I ask the question burning on my mind, �
�Who exactly is they?”

  The answer does not come from either Walter or the visibly distraught Jason. It is Sean who speaks up and replies in a steady voice, “They are the DEA.”

  Allie and I both stare at Sean in complete shock, our mouths gaping open. DEA? The idea seems like a joke. I am waiting for Candid Camera to leap out. Well, that explains Jason’s penchant for make-up, maybe…

  Allie finally speaks.

  “DEA?” She turns away from Sean and yanks on my arm. “DE fucking A, Mom!” She stares at me, confused. “What’s the DEA?”

  “Um, it’s like the FBI, but…”

  Walter holds up his hand. “No, it’s not. It’s the Drug Enforcement Administration, young lady.”

  “Drugs? I’m not doing drugs!” Her words are hostile, but there is fear in her voice. She sounds like she is six years old again and scared to jump off the diving board.

  I squeeze her hand, just waiting for her to pull away from me as usual. Surprisingly, she squeezes back.

  Walter steps away from Jason who is still acting oblivious to our presence. He leads us towards the threadbare couch. He sits on the coffee table and clasps our hands in his warm grandfatherly like hands. We both stare down at the floor.

  “Jason is not my son. In fact, Mary was not even my wife. We are all DEA agents,” Walter explains with a grave expression on his face.

  “What?” my head snaps up from its hung position. “But you live across the street. Our street,” I stammer, as if that would explain everything.