by Lee Alan
A red stain spread down his dirty cream chinos.
I really must do some washing tomorrow, she thought, as hysteria threatened to wrench her away from reality.
He swayed on his feet. “What have you done?” Tony asked, before dropping to his knees.
She remained paralyzed by an awful fascination, while the dark crimson patch travelled down his legs.
“Anna,” he muttered, before toppling to the floor, blues eyes rolling back in their sockets.
***
Anna wasn’t sure how much time had passed, while she watched the pool of blood grow outward across the beige linoleum. Eventually, a kind of self–awareness returned.
Leave now, she thought.
Chapter 2
Arizona: 1992
Hazel shielded her eyes from the blazing sun while she hurried home from another exhausting cleaning shift. Heat rose in relentless waves from the pavement and mixed with the thick air, leaving her parched throat aching for water. She scolded herself for not thinking to fill a bottle before heading back from her final client of the day.
A blue Chrysler sped past, leaving a pall of dust in its wake.
What I wouldn’t give for A/C, she thought with a sudden wave of envy directed toward the occupants of the car. Her mind’s eye pictured them heading to a cool, shaded four–bedroom duplex in the suburbs, where they would sip lemonade and laugh at the sun burnt woman foolish enough to walk four miles during the height of summer.
Finally rounding the bend to the familiar sight of the trailer park, she contemplated what her life had become over the years. Since leaving a pointless and unrewarding time at high school, she’d worked as a cleaner to support her son, Tony, and the love of her life, David. It was hard, degrading work, but at least they had a steady income.
She sighed, reflecting on how she looked closer to thirty–five than her actual twenty–nine years, these days. Her sandy, blonde hair had long lost its sheen, and her cheeks were now wrinkled from too many hours trudging through the desert. These sad facts led to the depressing conclusion that the future had finally passed her by for good.
That opportunity sailed, honey—just like owning a shiny, blue car.
Nothing was easy with David. He’d given up looking for work a long time ago, claiming that the small town of Salome didn’t have much to offer. She suspected, however, that nobody would take on a man with a reputation for being the town drunk. So, for better or worse, richer or poorer, he relied on her for everything. She cooked, cleaned, worked a ten–hour shift six days each week, and cared for the boy. Some months, especially this one, she felt overwhelmed. But there was no getting around the simple fact that she loved her man. Sure, the son of a bitch spent most of his time wasted, but he didn’t beat on her. According to the messed up wisdom of her grandmother, that’s all that mattered, in the end.
“Hazel, my dear, men aren’t fit for diddly shit, but, as long as they don’t whoop yer, then one’s as good as another.” She still recalled her exact words.
In Tony, though, lay a different story. He was her reason for living, and, at only seven years old, he behaved with remarkable thoughtfulness toward his mother. Each morning, he would get himself ready for school and pack his own lunch, all because he knew Momma needed to get to work. His relationship with David was more complex. He’d learned to avoid his unpredictable father for the most part, because of the few occasions when David had belted him—usually for the flimsiest of reasons. Hazel tried not to dwell on such inconvenient considerations. Instead, she contemplated with pride how Tony had developed a way with people. He had a deft, easy manner which his father would never achieve. Often, one of her elderly customers would remark on her “lovely, polite boy,” before giving him a warm toffee candy or a piece of chocolate.
The prone figure of David greeted her, after opening the scratched, brown door of the run down trailer. He lay sprawled along the green couch in the corner of what passed for their living room. She sighed again. It was becoming common to find him this way, sleeping off a date with his liquid mistress, even so early in the afternoon. She counted eight empty beer cans lined up on the beige rug beside him—a handy sign for what kind of evening to expect. Three to six cans meant there would be a calm night, but anything over nine could spell trouble in paradise. More than a dozen and she would take their son to stay at her sister’s.
She went to check on Tony, as her routine demanded. More often than not, she’d find him in his room reading or listening to the radio. Hazel knocked, but when the expected “Hey, Mom,” didn’t follow, as usual, she began to worry.
“Tony? You there, baby?” No answer.
She’d learned a long time ago to trust her intuition, and it gave her a definite nudge right then. Tony should have been in there, and, if not, he would have been playing in front of the trailer with the Smeaton kid.
What if something’s happened to him? The thought didn’t stop there. While you left him with a drunken lush of a father. Goosebumps rolled down her arms.
“Perhaps he’s hiding,” she muttered out loud in an attempt to counter her conscience. That didn’t sound like her little boy, though. He was a serious child—some would even argue: withdrawn. Playing pranks just wasn’t like her good, little boy. Despite the reservations of her maternal instinct, she entered the tiny box room and searched without luck.
Is he in the closet? Hazel thought. But, after pulling open the wooden door, she could only see a jumble of clothes and toys. Worry took root in the pit of her gut. She knew the boy could take care of himself, but something felt unsettling about the break in their shared normality.
After a moment pacing the short span between the living and sleeping quarters, she decided to search the exterior of the property. Heading back out, she dismissed the idea of waking her husband for help. At best, it would have ended in another sulky rant about apron strings. At worst, it would be a full–on rage, and another hole would appear in their bedroom door.
The trailer park sat at the edge of a wash which flowed with water during the winter months. It allowed the residents of the park to grow a few vegetables in the arid climate rolling off the distant Harquahala Mountain. During the hottest points of the year, such as now, it lay parched and filled with stinking garbage. Spikey mesquite trees, capable of tearing through the unprotected legs of a passer–by, dotted the land around the channel.
Perfect for scorpions, she thought darkly. “Tony!” She called, as her stomach churned with fresh concern.
The only answer to her plea came from the yapping of a neighbor’s dog. Disconcerted, she searched through the scrub, but it only took a moment to appreciate that the foliage was too sparse to hide a child. Hazel’s mind reeled.
What if he’s fallen and banged his head, left unconscious? Jesus, in this heat…
“The wash,” she muttered. “How many times have I told him not play down there?”
She climbed down the dirt walls of the wide trench in a panicked rush, causing a thorny branch to rake down her left cheek. The sudden pain induced an ugly urge to punish the boy harshly if this did turn out to be a prank.
Wincing, Hazel reached the bottom and looked down the length of the channel, her feet sinking deep into the sand of the gully. Nothing looked amiss. She frantically pondered her next move, finally deciding to scout the bank on the far side. From her recollection of the unforgiving environment, there was a small clearing just over the rise. Exactly where a child would build a fort.
After rounding the top, she stopped dead with terror at the sight of several small, mutilated bodies. A swarm of carrion flies buzzed around the remains. But, her overwhelming sense of dread ebbed as the realization sunk in that the gruesome remains appeared to be animal. She gasped with relief, and then placed her hands on her knees in a vain attempt to contain her fluttering heart. The horrified young mother inspected the grim scene with a sense of revulsion. The pitiful collection includ
ed desert birds, and, shaking her head with disbelief, she spotted the matted corpse of a tabby cat.
“Who could do such a thing?” She asked, almost at a loss for words.
It must have been a person, she thought, noticing how the carcasses had been arranged in a pattern that no natural predator would replicate.
But why?
More to the point, my dear: where is your son? And, by the way, have you considered that whoever did this could do the same to him?
She ran through the scrub, calling out for Tony. But, after a few minutes of exerting herself in the intense heat, she ran out of breath. Black dots spread across her vision. As she stopped to force oxygen into her heaving lungs, a rustling sound came from the bushes beside her. A moment later, the innocent face of her son emerged.
“Tony!” She half–screamed. The relief was incredible.
“I’m here, Mom,” his sweet voice answered.
Hazel ran to the boy, snatched him up, and then started to hurry home. She wanted to put as much distance between them and the grim scene she’d stumbled upon in the clearing as she could. After retracing her steps and reaching the relative safety of the trailer park, she set him down and looked into his blue, twinkling gaze.
“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Just playing, Mommy.”
“Did you see what happened to the birds?” She couldn’t help but ask, fearing that such a cruel sight would damage his young mind.
“What birds, Mommy?” His voice sounded calm. Further feelings of relief ran through her.
She hooked a protective arm around Tony and led him inside, before deciding to risk waking David, after all. Someone capable of doing such appalling things to those poor creatures was an obvious danger.
***
Hazel never did find out who killed and tortured those animals in such a sadistic manner. She wondered about it for years to come, unable to shake the sense that she’d missed something important that day.
Chapter 3
The station wagon was halfway to Phoenix before starting to die. It finally gave up the ghost fifty miles after passing a solitary outpost of civilization. It’s equally unhappy driver could only thud her hands against the steering wheel in helpless frustration while the engine choked and came to shuddering halt.
Anna was left to contemplate the bleak, dusty, scrubland which stretched toward a distant horizon. A cold finger of fear ran down her spine at the prospect of being stranded in the Arizona Badlands. She decided to consult her out dated road map in the glove compartment and concluded that her mid–night exodus had brought her to a featureless location literally called Nothing.
Well, kiddo, you are in a place called Nothing with nothing left…
Nothing, Arizona. Population: one, she thought, unable to raise even a bitter laugh at the irony of the situation.
Her mind turned to the shattering events of the previous night for the thousandth time, once again causing bile to rise in her stomach. Underpinned by a sense of dread, every memory and question about their relationship rolled around her shattered mind. She found it all so hard to believe. That man was supposed to have loved her. Instead, he’d smashed both of their futures.
He must be dead. The four words refused to stop their tortuous assault on her senses.
Part of her wanted to return and face the consequences, but she couldn’t do it. If he did live and, by some miracle, the law didn’t get wrapped up in the wreckage of their lives, she feared that he would somehow, find a way to reel her back in. And then, the nightmare wouldn’t end. She’d be trapped forever.
Oh, and he will do it again, Little Bird—make no mistake about that, she thought, forcing herself not to cry any more.
The fire in her heart burned a hundred times stronger than the desert surrounding her, but she only had the energy to sit and ride the unpleasant sensation of her chest thumping. She rested her weary head against the wheel for a second and then opened the car door. A vein throbbed in her temple as the rusty mechanism screeched. She stepped into the scorching heat.
In retrospect, it became so clear: he’d not given a single thing to her in return for everything she did. Not once did he bring her flowers or make dinner when she returned from another hard day. She found herself stunned by her own blindness. The question kept arising: why had they stayed together so long? The answer was that Tony had the ability to charm when it suited him: when he wanted the apartment, which made her get a second job, and, of course, sex. He could have persuaded the birds to fall from the trees so he could clip their wings to stop them from ever flying again.
She collapsed to the ground, ready to give in.
No. You have to be strong and think, Anna. If you want to survive this, you have no choice, she thought, knowing that to let go in this forbidding place risked total ruin.
Firming her resolve, she lifted herself up and breathed.
***
Amazingly, the rested car spluttered to life on the third attempt, and she soon made her way south again, not daring to go above forty miles per hour.
Why don’t you call for an ambulance, Anna? Her internal Jiminy Cricket chirped up.
It crept into her thoughts like the ultimate un–flushable turd—the number one head twister on the score board of questions best avoided.
“Too late,” she whispered.
The first two hours of her escape had been a barely–registered blur of dark, winding roads and numb thought processes. She’d been too screwed in the head to call for help during that crucial time. Since regaining some inner control, the narrow window to turn back or pick up a phone had receded, along with any remote possibility of rescuing the situation.
When did our love turn grey? She wondered, thinking about the way he would lie with her, quiet and sullen.
He’d never cuddle, but why? Anna didn’t know. Occasionally, he would utter the word “love,” but the mechanical way he said it always spoke louder than the sentence, itself. His only passion seemed to stem from a constant anger—a furious rage that lurked just beneath those pale blue eyes, ready to explode for the smallest reason.
The long drive under a scorching sun brought other thoughts amidst the sense of impending doom. Reflections on their so–called home and how it felt like more like a trap to her—a snare in which to keep a willing slave locked away and neglected. Apart from the dismal aura, the smell of rolled cigarettes had permeated the air. The stench rose from the half dozen ash trays scattered about the apartment.
It’s way past time to leave that nest, kiddo, she thought, shifting in the sticky, plastic seat.
She wasn’t sure how long this newfound freedom would last, but Anna knew of one person who could make any remaining time count: Julia.
Her fears of impending arrest came as a distant second to the sense of loss for what he’d stolen: the bright–eyed girl with an innocent view of the world. The person she’d used to be—the Anna who trusted others and loved life—was gone. And for that, she hated him most.
***
When Julia got her sister’s call, she felt relieved beyond words. She’d watched helplessly over the years, while Anna suffered the lingering fate of a woman trapped in a loveless partnership. Instinctively, she’d not trusted Tony; he’d always left her feeling unsettled in his presence. Although she could never quite put her finger on it, something dark lay hidden behind those rugged, handsome features. Something bad. One day, she knew his rotten core would emerge from the depths and hurt the person she loved most in the world.
Of course, Julia had tried many times to persuade her to leave him, but Anna would only try to excuse his casual cruelty. “Tony just needs to find himself,” or, “He needs to find a job.” Whatever.
Oh, Little Bird, you silly girl, Julia thought.
Despite feeling like slapping her younger sister on more than one occasion, she’d refused to give up on her. Even when the abuse thre
atened to drive a wedge between them. She knew with absolute certainty that a man like Tony would finally break down—it was inevitable. Although the thought of Anna getting hurt in the process made her feel sick, Julia knew it would present an opportunity to break free.
Unlike Anna, she’d not really found the one. For reasons best known to the wider universe, after waiting decades for the perfect man to come along, it never happened. Of course, she’d been on dates and experienced passionate flings. But refusing to settle for anything less than Mr. Dream had become a challenge. Unfortunately, she was yet to find said perfect gentleman amongst a mix of momma’s boys and control freaks. She didn’t sweat, though—well, not much, anyhow—because at the not–quite–panic–stations age of thirty–one, she remained happy being single. Somewhere along the line, she’d also managed to build a good life, despite being a hopeless spinster.
That’s where she differed from her sibling: Anna had always wanted to lose herself in a man. Therein lay the problem: learning to assert herself, rather than finding someone else to provide an emotional crutch. Julia had noticed many years ago that Anna didn’t have the same confidence as others. She said “yes” when she should have been saying “no fucking way, man.” With poor, sweet Little Bird, it’d always been about other people and never herself. Julia just hoped that whatever ill luck had prompted her emotional call would also put an end to her self–destructive behavior.
Silver linings, she thought,stealing another look at her wrist watch.
A pinging sound emanated from her phone to notify an incoming text: “Be there in ten.”
Thrilled at Anna’s message, she put some water on the stove and planned her strategy.
We’ll just have to have a little chat: Big Bird to Little Bird. “Nothing too heavy—just enough to know she’s okay,” Julia said aloud. And if she’s not, then I’ll find that fucking son of bitch and rip him a new one.