Every Part of the Animal

by Duncan Ralston

  At the hatch, he pushed the heavy table.

  "Hey! Hey, Cal, is that you?"

  "Yeah, it's me," he said, grunting as he pushed the table the last few inches. "I'm gonna bring you some food."

  "Food? I don't want fucking food, I want out!"

  Caleb tore open the hatch. He staggered back, seeing her for the first time since the accident, her face a mask of bruises and blood. Her body and clothes—what little she wore—covered in sweat-streaked dirt.

  "Yeesh, what happened to you?"

  "You mother happened," Rainey sneered.

  "Momma said you was in a car accident."

  "She's a liar. She did this to me. Kicked me in the head, that's all I remember before waking up tied to a fucking chair."

  "Nuh uh, I seen your car smashed up next to a tree out front. She ain't lyin."

  Rainey squinted, seeming to think. "Okay well maybe I did crash the car, but why the fuck do you think your momma tied me up down in the damn basement if she didn't do anything wrong, huh? She went nuts, beat the shit outta me, left me tied me to a goddamn chair with a shirt over my head all night… your momma's insane, honey. Cray cray in the bray bray. Muy loco. Ya feel me?"

  Caleb shook his head. "This ain't like Momma. She's… she doesn't hurt people. She gets mad sometimes, okay. Everybody gets mad sometimes. But she's a good person."

  Rainey held out her tied hands, shaking them angrily. "Do good people do this?" She indicated her face. "This?" Smiling sadly, she said, "Honey, your momma went bananas. B-a-n-a-n-a-s. Now come on, untie me so we can go to the police."

  Caleb hesitated. Go to the police? On Momma? No no no, I gotta think about this…

  Rainey's network of bruises drew together in a scowl. "It's gonna happen. You think you gotta protect her, but she's the one who shoulda been protecting you. That's her job, not yours." She nodded at him. "She give you that scar? On your face?"

  He felt his cheeks go hot. He'd always hated the scar on his cheek, a ragged pink slash he thought made him look ugly. Whenever someone pointed it out, it just confirmed his suspicion. "Naw, that was Daisy."

  "Who's Daisy?" she asked.

  "We had a dog when I was little. I guess I was playin too rough with her, and she bit me. Ripped a piece right out of my cheek. Wasn't her fault, I know. But Daddy wouldn't have none of it. Took her out back and shot her, just like that. That's why Momma won't let me have a dog."

  Caleb wasn't sure if the sympathy in her eyes was for him or Daisy, but the way she looked at him made him feel awkward. "I'm gonna get you something to eat—"

  "I don't want food! Untie me, god—!" She paused. Her expression softened. "Cal. Sweetie. Your momma's gonna come home soon, and she's gonna do very bad things to me. She already promised I'm gonna end up dead."

  "She said that?"

  "What the fuck do you think, dude? She's got me locked up in the basement like I'm her retarded half-brother—me being who I am, looking like I do right now? You think she's gonna just let me go?"

  He only realized he'd been backing up all this time when his shins struck the stairs and he fell down hard on his ass. "This ain't right," he muttered to himself. "I knew this wasn't right…"

  "No shit, Sherlock. Your momma shot my bodyguard, made up this whole crazy fucking story about how he tried to rape me, I got in a accident, I killed him in self-defense—it's totally fucking mental."

  Caleb slowly crab-walked backwards up the stairs.

  "Where are you going? She's gonna kill me! Don't you fucking get it?"

  He turned and ran the rest of the way, heard her scream as he lowered the hatch. Heart thumping like an 808 drum (an expression he never quite understood from some song on the radio), he hurried to the pantry, grabbed a can of pork and beans, and opened it with the rusty tablemount can opener. He got a spoon from the cutlery drawer, closed it gently, and opened the hatch.

  Rainey stopped feeling the walls when the sun caught her like a searchlight. She turned with fury in her eyes as Caleb crept down the stairs with the can and water glass held out like peace offeringss.

  "I said I don't want your damn food," Rainey grumbled.

  "You need to eat," he said, like Momma would say to him when he was getting over being sick. "At least drink this."

  "Yeah, then I'll have to pee on the floor. Like a dog."

  Caleb withdrew the offerings. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? But you just gotta… you gotta play along with Momma for a bit 'til I figure it out. I'll work on her. Just play nice, all right?"

  "Rainey Layne doesn't play nice," she said with a sneer.

  "Then don't be Rainey Layne," he said. "Be real."

  She laughed. "You gonna use my song lyrics against me now?"

  "Rainey Layne ain't your real name, I heard that in an interview. So be real, okay? Whoever you are, be the real you. Not the girl you made up so you could sell records or whatever."

  "Jeez, way to tear me down, kid."

  He offered the can again, holding out the spoon.

  "I can't eat that."

  "Can't? Why not?"

  "Pork. I'm vegan."

  "Vegan? What's that, like a Star Trek character?"

  Rainey grinned wide and sat down in the dust in front of him, forearms on her knobby knees. "I'm an animal lover," she said. "I'm against animal cruelty of any kind."

  "Me too," Caleb said, feeling chummy.

  "You ever shot one?"

  Unbidden, his mind flashed on Darius's deep brown eyes as the bullet entered his forehead and exploded out the back. Lights on—lights off. Just like that. "Well, yeah…"

  "Then doesn't that seem pretty cruel to you?"

  "I guess…" He sat on the stairs, started eating out of the can. "You ain't never heard of the circle of life?"

  "That's just a stupid pop song."

  "Says the pop singer. Well how 'bout the food chain?"

  "People stopped being a part of the food chain when they invented guns."

  "You just want it to be fair then," Caleb said, eating with his mouth open, the spoon clattering against the inside of the can. "What if we give guns to the deer?"

  "Ha ha."

  "I'm serious," he said, his mouth full. "Strap a gun on em and let em fight back."

  "That would be pretty cool, though."

  "Wouldn't it?"

  "Gimme a sip, huh?"

  "I thought you didn't wanna pee on the floor?"

  "I'm thirsty," she said, and then laughed. "Like thirsty for a drink, I mean."

  "What other kind of thirsty is there?" He put the can on the stairs, and approached her with the water glass.

  "You'll understand when you're a little older," she said with a smirk, and reached for the glass.

  Caleb withdrew it. "Let me do it."

  "You don't trust me?"

  "Not right now, no. Open."

  Begrudgingly, she opened her mouth. Tensing, imagining her snatching out and smashing the glass into his face somehow, Caleb placed it against her lower lip—chapped, cracking, every trace of bubblegum lip gloss worn away—and tipped it. She swallowed a mouthful. Two. Her eyelids fluttered. He raised the glass.

  "That's enough for now."

  She gasped. "Oh, it's good. I never had such good water before." She licked her lips.

  He sat down on the stair, took a large gulp of it himself.

  "You ever buy meat from the store?" she asked.

  "Never."

  "Never?"

  "We eat what we kill," he said, and again those dead eyes floated up, threatening to make him gag on his mouthful of beans. He swallowed hard.

  "You eat what you kill."

  "That's right," he said proudly, setting the empty can on the stair beside him.

  "That opossum your momma shot yesterday…?"

  "Last night's stew."

  Rainey grimaced. "The wolves, what about them?"

  "That's different—"

  "Aha!"

  "There's a cull in effect. We get two hundred
a piece."

  "But you don't eat em."

  "Gotta bring em in whole or you don't get the bounty. Momma said we can make an exception 'cause we got bills to pay."

  "Oh, well if Momma says…" She rolled her eyes. "Don't you see how brainwashed she's got you?"

  "I ain't brainwashed, I'm practical. I wanna be self-sufficient when I grow up."

  Rainey flashed a smile. "Well, you better get learning. You're gonna be on your own quicker than you hoped."

  "Can I ask you somethin? If my momma really was gonna kill you, why wouldn't she have done it already? I mean, why'd she bother keepin you down here?"

  "She wants me to lie for her. To protect her."

  "So why don't you?"

  "Um, because it's crazy? Duh-ee."

  "Well, what's so crazy 'bout it, huh?"

  "Because she's crazy, Cal. She killed Darius and you expect me to let her get away with it?"

  Caleb pulled a face.

  "What?"

  "Well, what if she didn't kill him?"

  She looked at him askance. "What do you mean?"

  "If… I killed him. Instead. What if she wanted you to lie to protect me, not her?"

  "Don't lie for her," Rainey said.

  "'Put the gun down, little man,'" Caleb said in a mock-deep voice. "You didn't hear that?"

  "I thought…" Rainey's dry throat clicked as she swallowed. "I heard, I just thought your momma got the gun or something, I thought…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

  "I killed him, Rainey. I didn't want to. But he was gonna kill her if I didn't."

  "He wouldn't."

  "He was on top of her. Choking her."

  "She was resisting."

  "But he was gonna take her away from me." His stomach turned at the thought of it. He thought he might vomit for real this time. "Have her arrested, just like you want to have happen."

  "Your mother's a sick woman."

  "Maybe. But that don't erase the fact she's my mother, and I love her. And I want what's best for her."

  Rainey leaped to her feet. "What's best for her is to be in an insane asylum!"

  "And what's best for me? What happens to me when they haul Momma off to prison, huh? Eight years in a foster home with ten other kids, gettin beat on every day, barely enough to eat?"

  "Who told you that? Why would you think that?"

  "I'm not stupid. I listen to the radio. I hear the news. The world ain't all bottle service and throwin your hands in the air like you don't care, not for a kid like me."

  "I was a kid like you," she said.

  "You got talent. That's different."

  "It takes a lot of work and good luck to get where I am, believe me." She looked around herself. "Well, not here. You know what I mean."

  "I believe you. I don't have that option. I'll be lucky if I can go to college."

  "I'll pay for it."

  "What?"

  "College. I'll pay for it. Shit, Cal, you can come live with me, if that's what it'll take for you to let me out of here."

  She approached him, her tied hands held out. Fingers splayed.

  Caleb stepped back. "I've got to go," he said.

  "No, don't—don't you leave me down here again!"

  He ran up the stairs. "She'll be home soon. I'll work on her, but just think about her deal, okay? Right now it's the best option you got."

  Giving her a pitying look, Caleb lowered the hatch.

  "Nonononono—"

  But the hatch groaned back into place, plunging her into the dark.

  RAINEY STOOD WHERE she was for several seconds, deciding on her next move. She heard the kid move across the floor, could almost picture him smiling smugly, stupidly to himself as Hottie followed him—clickclickclick—back to his room.

  He forgot all about me, Rainey thought. Ungrateful little mutt.

  She got to her knees and scrambled to where she'd seen a small glimmer of light when the kid went upstairs to get the beans, what she hoped was a shard of glass the bitch missed when she'd swept the floor.

  She pat the cool, damp-feeling earth, coughing from the cloud of dirt. Her fingers found something smooth and cold. She felt the edges. The jagged shard bit into the pad of her index finger.

  In the dark of the cellar, Rainey smiled.

  SHERIFF BOISE AND several other police officers moved up and down Tackle Box Road, flares and yellow tape around the accident as Bo drove by. She nodded as old Ed Boise squinted at her through the windshield. Thought about stopping and asking what happened, but didn't want to be one of those helpful criminals who got themselves caught at the scene of the crime.

  She drove by slowly. Caught the eye of a female detective dressed in a black suit, stood in the ditch. Native woman. Got the same squint as Ed gave her. Bo tipped her a nod and resisted the urge to floor the pedal.

  Not every day you see Alaska Bureau of Investigations out this way. They know about Rainey already. Only a matter of time before they put it all together. You gotta speed this up, Bo. One way or the other.

  Fort Garrison was back to its sleepy self when Bo arrived. The protestors had gone home. No news vans or reporters milling around, just the regular folk you'd see on a drive through town.

  Funny what a difference a day makes, she thought miserably.

  The bell jingled as she stepped into the General Store. Dan Goose wasn't behind the counter. "Be there in a second," he called from the back room.

  The toilet flushed. A moment later the old fella came out, drying his hands on his jean overalls. "Hey, Bo Diddley. Twice in two days. Hope you don't got more wolves already. I ain't made of money."

  "Not today, Dan," she said, heading for the aisles. "Got any Milk of Magnesia?"

  He shook his head. "Run out. Got Pepto. Works the same."

  "I'm not a pink type of gal."

  "It's all I got," he said with a shrug. "Take it or leave it."

  "I guess I'll take it." Bo went to the medicine section. All kinds of headache pills and stomach pills, and a few things of natural herb remedies for the hippie types. She found the Pepto, and brought it to the counter.

  "That'll be six-fifty."

  "Six-fifty? Dang, Dan. That's highway robbery."

  He shrugged. "Shipping markup. I gotta make some profit, don't I?"

  "Yup, I guess you do." She handed him a bill.

  He opened the till. "Blood on this Jackson," he said nonchalantly.

  "Blood?" Bo's bones went cold. Dan Goose held it up to her. Flaked off a few rust brown speckles with his long, clean thumbnail. "Huh," she said. "Prob'ly from cleanin that possum th'other day."

  Dan Goose accepted the explanation with a nod. Put the bill in with a few others, and handed her the change. "You see the accident?"

  "Accident?" she said, playing innocent.

  "Out on the Tackle Box."

  "Oh, right. Yep, drove past it. Looks like old Ed's got his hands full. Think I saw Major Crimes out there. That can't be right, can it?"

  "You remember that girl come in the other day when you were here? With them short shorts? Turns out she's famous or something. Doc Henson says she went missing. Saw it on the TV."

  "Oh… that's a shame."

  "You and her got into it yesterday, didn't you?"

  "We had a run-in, of sorts. Protestors shook my truck a little. No big deal."

  Dan raised his bristly eyebrows, grinning mischievously. "Heard you nearly run her off the road."

  Bo laughed. "That's a bit of an exaggeration. I might have revved the engine a little, but I didn't run no one off the road."

  "Well, you know what they say about rumors."

  "Spread like a V.D. in a whorehouse?"

  Dan Goose chuckled: heh heh heh. "Somethin like that. You take care now, Bo."

  "You too, Dan Goose."

  The door jingled as she left.

  Stomach suddenly sour, Bo unscrewed the cap off the Pepto, and took a swig of the thick, overly sweet pink liquid.

  Whatever happens, it's g
otta happen now.

  Bo was pretty sure she was safe, but if the cops got even a whiff in her direction, the whole damn house of cards would come tumbling down. Keeping the girl quiet while they snooped would take a miracle, let alone what they'd find if they happened to bring along a sniffer dog.

  It had to end now. If the girl refused to make a decision, Bo would have to force her hand.

  All of their lives hung in the balance.

  DETECTIVE LUCY OKALIK pulled up in front of the Snowcrest Lodge, a sprawling, luxuriant log cabin the size of a mini-mall, with two giant totem poles holding up the portico, each topped with the massive carved-wood head of a wolf. The hotel stood at the foot of the Yellow Ridge Mountains. With heavy snowfall during the long winter months, snow tended to stay on the trails throughout the summer. On one side of her cruiser a Maserati with a vanity plate was parked; on the other, a yellow Hummer H3. She disliked the place immediately.

  The inside was worse. It looked like an American Indian Chuck-E Cheese. All creek-smooth stone pillars, heavily lacquered wood furniture, and rust brown and forest green patterned carpets. Canoe paddles and Tsimshian tribe totems adorned the walls: beaver and codfish and eagle and bear. Kids chased each other around a fake waterfall. Others played on a tube slide made to look like a snake. Parents in ski attire sipped liquor-infused hot chocolate out of mugs stamped with the Snowcrest's logo, a shaman's feather fan.

  She sighed, thinking it likely wouldn't have bothered her so much if the place were run by a local tribe. But the owners were named Fuchs, a German family who owned ski lodges in seven states, all of them decked out in similar culturally appropriated fashion. Like an Irish pub chain with Chinese owners.

  Okalik moved through the vacationing families and huddled lovers to the front desk, garnering a few curious looks but not many. The woman behind the desk was a rosy-cheeked bleached blonde whose smile brought dimples.

  "Welcome to Snowcrest Lodge, Officer. How may I assist you today?"

  "Detective," Okalik corrected. "I'm looking for a room booked under the name Layne, or Dawson."

  "Oh, you must mean Rainey Layne. She's great, isn't she?"

  "I don't listen to pop music."

  "Oh. Well let me just see what room she's in…" She began typing on the computer.

  "Who was here on the overnight?"

  "Donna Tweed. She's on most nights."