Nursery Rhymes 4 Dead Children

by Lee Thompson

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should.”

  “You going to take my order to the cook or not?”

  “I might spit in your food. How would you like that?”

  “If it gets here faster, I don’t care.”

  Clara laughed. It was her best feature. Mike smiled a little. He never understood how a certain type of laughter could do that to him, but there it was. “See, you’re just hungry and needed to smile.” She stood and touched his arm. “Everyone here cares about your mom. I’ll get your food and get you out so you can go see her. You been up to The Lady yet?”

  Mike shook his head, thinking, No. And I don’t want to see her.

  “I see. I know you want some food.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Clara.”

  She laughed again, her head thrown back, little breasts bobbing. Clara caught him looking. “When’s the last time you’ve been here?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “And you’re just acting on the telly the whole time?”

  No. Before that I killed a little girl. And she comes to me in my dreams wearing a face I once loved more than anything.

  Mike cleared his throat. “Sure.”

  She walked away, looking back once over her shoulder. She had a nice ass. Annoying personality though. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to fuck her or punch her.

  Part Two: Surfacing

  Chapter 7

  I left the bowl on the passenger seat. All Saints’ lawn squished underfoot and water dripped from leaves above as if the trees cried for lost life. It bothered me, how everything faded so quickly. Fresh sod, with clumps of mud around its perimeter, marked my brother’s grave. A gray haze hung over the area like fog. I wiped tears away, my voice surprisingly thick. “Gotta bring your headstone up once the ground settles.”

  I pulled the key out of my shirt and put my right hand on the pistol as I looked up the hill at the Johnston manor. The old beast leaned toward me, a black Jaguar in the driveway. A tremble shook loose inside me, thinking that they should have leveled the hell hole, buried the remains so deep it’d wipe it from memory.

  “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “How did it hurt you before?”

  I spun, foot sliding on the damp ground. I caught my balance, heart pounding. The redhead wore a shiny black raincoat that ended half way up her long, bare legs. Rubber boots covered her feet. She jabbed a black rose in the sod and licked blood from her finger. “Thorns,” she said. “They’re beautiful, in a way. But they’ll cut you.”

  “Why have you been following me?”

  “You don’t like it?” She bit her lip, traced her finger over the grass in the shape of a cross. From where I stood, it appeared upside down. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “You don’t like me following you?”

  Her raincoat fell open a little and revealed the skin between her breasts. I looked away, up the hill at the Manor. “Who are you?”

  She giggled. “Angela.”

  “Last name?”

  “No. That’s my first name, silly.”

  I frowned. Angela bit her fingernail and sat in the grass, blew a kiss to the black rose. She blinked rain out of her eyes and put her arms behind her, leaned back. The slicker rode up her thighs.

  She’s fucking with you.

  Angela giggled again, ran a wet hand down her leg. She played with a lump of dirt. “Don’t think that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What you were just thinking.”

  “I’m a cop. Do you want me to take you into the station?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m not asking you again. Why are you following me?”

  “Because you hold the key.”

  “Key to what?”

  She ran a hand beneath her raincoat. “Pull your pistol and shoot me.”

  This bitch is crazy, but at least you’re not alone with it anymore. Dancing alone is no fun.

  I pulled the pistol, tempted to give her what she wanted, eager to lash out at someone because I didn’t have a handle on anything yet. “You know where New Wave is?”

  “The Nut House? Sure.”

  “You escape from there?”

  She stood and straightened her hair. “Do I look crazy to you?”

  “Crazy comes in all shades.”

  “That’s the first thing you’ve said that holds any meaning.”

  I pointed the pistol at her face. “This is what you want?”

  Angela stepped forward, her mouth open. She took the barrel between her lips and sucked, her cheeks hollowing. She stared into my eyes.

  I cocked the hammer, wanting to laugh, imagining someone driving up the road and seeing us out there, what the hell they would think.

  Angela pulled back. “You’re a very dark man. You sure you’re not crazy?”

  “I’m just sick of everyone’s bullshit. I want some answers.”

  “What if there aren’t any?” Her hand came up. Her finger pushed the gun down. “This is the grave of someone you loved or hated?”

  “Both.”

  “At least you’re honest.” Angela leaned over a nearby grave and wiggled her ass. “You ever think that maybe you worry too much about what other people think?”

  “I never used to.”

  “What changed?” She turned around and pulled a knife. I smiled. She caressed the blade and said, “Does this turn you on, Dark Man? Both of us holding weapons after a hard rain, ready to draw blood?”

  Maybe. I’m wondering what you know about the girls. Do you sing them nursery rhymes? Did you cut them up, just for me?

  Angela’s laugh burst from deep inside. It pressed against my face as she leaned closer, almost on my toes. I hadn’t even seen her close the distance. “I’m not your enemy, Johnathan.”

  “Great. You know my name.”

  “I know a lot more than that.”

  “The size of my dick?”

  She ran the knife’s flat edge against the back of my hand. Angela smelled like the woods, earthy. “Why do men worry so much about that?”

  “Because of women.”

  “Like me?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I love my fiancé.”

  “Really?” She took a step back and I fought the urge to step forward and close the distance again.

  She’s toying with you. Shoot her. Right in the face. If you killed Mark and it comes out, one more person isn’t going to matter.

  I put the pistol back in its holster. I pulled the black rose from the sod and threw it to the side. It bounced off a headstone. “Don’t put shit on my brother’s grave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said.”

  “Wow. I better listen then.” She knelt and cut the sod. “This is what I’m here for. You. Take it or leave it. But it’ll be easier if you listen to me. Redemption is only the first step in a series of ones that will result in The Blossom.”

  “Like everyone else you haven’t told me anything. And cutting that into Mark’s grave just makes me wonder if you had something to do with the girls out in the woods.”

  She smirked. “What girls?”

  “You already know.”

  Angela stood and waved before she walked to the edge of the cemetery and ducked beneath an overhang of branches. I picked up the rose. It smelled like her. I knelt over Mark’s grave and tried to fix the sod she’d slashed. “Jesus Christ. What is going on?”

  * * *

  Mike pulled into Our Lady of Mercy, parked in the middle of the lot, and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at his Omega. Having nice stuff didn’t mean as much as it used to. Pulling an unopened pack of Camels from the glove box, he toyed with the cellophane. It was a challenge not to smoke one. But he liked having a pack around, just in case. The last time he’d smoked someone had slit their wrists, wet his cigarette. He knew he’d still taste it if he lit up.

  A wom
an entered the front doors of the hospital. Mike knew he had to go in there eventually, let his mother’s darkness further stain his soul.

  His father’s voice, from his boyhood, whispered in his head. You have to find your angle and exploit it. You want a more satisfying life than those around you? Invest your energy to it. Now quit fucking around and go chop some firewood and think about what I said before your cunt of a mother hears us talking and tries to tell you different.

  After he locked the Jaguar, he checked his watch again.

  Get through this bullshit and you can find a motel before it gets dark.

  The girl at the front desk clicked the buttons on a pink PSP. She had it muted, but her eyes moved back and forth, her mouth folding in on a sucker. Mike grabbed the sign-in log and wrote: George W. Loves Knockers, 1:30. He threw the pencil in the girls lap. She jumped, her chair skidding back on its rollers. “What the f—”

  “Everyone in this town has a problem, you know that?”

  “You just messed up my score.”

  “Maybe you should have waited till your break.”

  Her name tag said: Heidi. She slammed the game down on the lower tier in front of her. “Can I help you?”

  “My mother’s here.”

  “So?”

  “You want to give me her room number?”

  She let out a breath, the force of it blowing a paper free of a stack in front of her. “What’s her name?”

  “Forget it. I’ll ask your supervisor.”

  “Wait. I—”

  “It’s fine. Go back to your game.” He walked around the desk, looking for a nurse. Heidi stood and caught him, like a little kid, wide eyes, hand tugging at his elbow.

  “Hey. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I’ve got these things going on… they just make me not—”

  “I don’t care. Go back to your desk.” He pointed.

  “I hate this stupid job, but I need it.”

  “Then pretend to care about it.” I had to do it sometimes, everyone does. You suck it up and move forward.

  Heidi frowned, turned her head. The hall ran straight back, cut through in the middle with a hall that ran left and right. An attractive brunette staring at a clipboard came out of the left artery. She met Mike’s eyes, then Heidi’s. The younger girl muttered, “Shit.” Then went back to the front desk. Mike waved.

  The nurse wore burgundy top and bottom. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “I’m looking for my mother. Lynette Johnston.”

  “You’re Michael.” She offered her hand. He shook it. Her skin felt like velvet and she smelled like a fresh bath. Most of the nurses he’d ever met smelled like their patients. He gave her a slight smile and thought, You try not to touch them, huh?

  “She’s in 13. I can show you the way.” He didn’t notice a name tag. Thought it weird. “You fly in from somewhere?”

  “No. I drove.”

  She looked him up and down as they walked. His heart galloped. “You haven’t been in Division in some time, right? How long have you been back? Has everything changed?”

  Everyone’s the same.

  They took a few more steps, Mike walking slower than normal, ashamed of the dread he felt building inside him.

  “I just drove in. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No. What made you guess that?” They rounded the corner to the right, their shoes squawking on the tiles. The place stank of industrial disinfectant and overhead lights that burned day and night. An undertone of an overworked circuit.

  Mike looked at her left hand. Nothing there. “Girls like you don’t grow up here.”

  They stopped in front of a closed door on the north side of the hall. “Girls like me?”

  “Pretty, smart.”

  She laughed. “I heard about you.”

  “What’d you hear? Something from my mom?” He looked at the door. Crossing that threshold didn’t make life any easier. It brought back things he’d just as soon ram a knife into. Mother reminded him of his sister, which reminded him of the girl he killed.

  “Some from your mom. But more from someone else. Not to mention TV, ya know?”

  “You’re killing me here.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be happy you’re back.” The nurse opened the door. The room was lit only by a reading lamp over the bed. His mother moved beneath the sheets, her skin yellow in the light, a book opened on her lap. She met his gaze.

  The past never lets go of you, does it, Mom?

  “Your son is here to see you, Mrs. Johnston.” The nurse pointed Mike through the door. He held his ground a moment. His mother wiped her mouth with her left hand, the patch of circular scar tissue in the center of her palm catching the light off the wall above the bed, and glistening like burned skin.

  “I don’t have a son.”

  So, it’s going to be like that.

  The nurse touched Mike’s arm.

  Mike cleared his throat. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. People never change.” He walked back down the hall and passed the girl at the front desk. She squeaked out, “Sorry, sir.” But he kept walking, thinking, I’m sorry, too.

  Chapter 8

  I called Cat but she didn’t answer.

  I needed to hear her voice because as much as I hated to admit it, she was the rock in our relationship. She had instincts and common sense I’d never possess.

  At the brink of the rock wall in the Devil’s Garden, I sat down and dangled my feet over the cliff. A mile downhill, the Loyal Sock River cut through the valley, white water crashing against rocks, hanging canvases of rainbow color. I’d left the bowl that Red had given me on the passenger seat of the cruiser, not sure what was in it or when I’d have the courage to open it. After meeting Angela in All Saints, I didn’t feel so good about myself. Images of her legs, her lips around the pistol barrel, sucking, kept popping up like weeds in my mind. Being so weak irritated me. I’d never strayed and didn’t want to.

  I pulled the pistol and set it next to me on the ground. The camping season was over but I heard them out there, the ghosts of college kids and families in Worlds End State Park, gearing up to cut loose on a hot summer night. I envied their laughter, even though it was all in my head, a remnant of every year piled on every year. Envied the way some people’s lives ran their course, without hitting anything more than a few speed bumps, while my life and those I loved commanded that they clear the forest and fight the monsters, proving themselves. And for what?

  I put the pistol back in the holster and stood. My back hurt and my head pounded. I stroked the lump on my forehead and my anger crackled all over again, thinking about those ruined lives on the forest floor, someone leaving me for dead, Division’s leaders so willing to wipe it away because they thought me or Mark were involved. Then there was Angela. She saw us with the dead girls. I seriously considered having Pat run her name to see what popped up but I didn’t want to see him yet because if he looked me in the eye he might see the truth. Rusty didn’t trust him. I didn’t either because he was one of those men who wore their contempt proudly. And yet he was willing to cover up murder to protect my family name. Fucked up. Crazy.

  I couldn’t go to the State Police, show them where the men had buried the girls. Not unless I wanted some of my dad’s friends thrown in the fire and face possible prison time myself.

  Jesus Christ. I don’t know the right thing to do.

  I hiked out of the forest and drove northwest into town, around the back to the Emergency Room entrance, planning to check on Rusty. Maybe he’d be ready to talk more once he settled down.

  Cat paced along the back of the building, smoking a cigarette. I parked and called out to her. Head down, she didn’t seem to hear me as she walked the other way. I pulled the ring out of my pocket and looked at it. The diamond glittered in the failing sunlight. It’d be dark soon and I knew that I had done nothing to move forward. And the nothingness choked my hope, strangled it, laughed in my face. I put the ring back in my pocket and jogged alo
ng the side of Our Lady, a coolness seeping from the old bricks, the flower bed wrapping me in its scent. She’d moved here from Colorado. Most of her family had shunned her when she got pregnant with Ethan, the father had run out on her, and she wanted a new start. She’d never told me a whole lot about her past and I tried not to probe too deeply because any time she talked about home she cried.

  “Cat.”

  She stopped at the corner, about to round the building. She looked up and her eyes went wide. She stubbed her cigarette out on the wall. “John. What happened to your head?”

  I kissed her and held her and felt like pouring it all out, all the secrets I’d hidden and those that other people had forced me to keep.

  “Are you okay?” She touched my ear. The brush of her fingertips always made my heart race, made me want to open up completely and trust her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets, pulled them out again, wanting to lean into her, but thinking that if she wanted it she’d let me know.

  She frowned and looked at the ground. “Is this about us?”

  I shook my head. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “You’ve felt so distant lately. You hardly ever talk to me. I know you’re still healing after your brother, but…”

  The sun crept a little farther toward the horizon; the idea of night falling didn’t thrill me. I stroked the line of a vein in her arm. “I have so much I want to tell you. Just not right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m trying to sort things out.”

  She brushed raven black hair out of her eyes. It flowed in a dark cascade to the middle of her back, framed a face that always took my breath away. I tried to kiss her neck, but she stepped back, put her hands up. “What?” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “Tell me, John. I’m sick of you blocking me out.”

  I hitched my pants up and wiped a sheen of sweat from my forehead. My skin was feverish. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Start with us. Are you tired of being with me?”