As the Liquor Flows

by Angela Christina Archer

  I kicked a rock I’d unearthed a few moments ago and watched it roll several inches.

  “Yes.” I lied.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  With a bright flash, a bolt of lightning lit up the air above our heads and cracked so loud it deafened me. Following closely, thunder boomed, shaking through our bodies so hard it nearly knocked me off balance.

  Rain began to pour from the sky, drenching us within seconds. My hair dripped as though I stood under a hose and my dress instantly gained several pounds. Puddles formed all around me and the heels of my shoes slipped in the mud as I fought against it.

  “We should get inside.” Henry’s shouted words were barely audible through the wall of water.

  His hair and clothes just as drenched as mine clung to his body as he grabbed my hand and we rushed through the gate toward the covered porch.

  One of the heels of my shoes caught in the mud, which pulled it off my foot and kept it as a prize. After another few steps, the sticky mud sucked off the other shoe, and by the time we reached the porch, I was barefoot.

  We both glanced at the garden and then at each other, from our feet up to our heads. Without saying anything, laughter burst from both of our lips.

  “I’m soaked to the bone.” I laughed.

  “And you’re missing your shoes.”

  More laughter burst from both of us.

  My chest begun to ache and my lungs begged for breath.

  Henry stepped closer to me. His fingers brushed my wet curls out of my face.

  “I know there is something else on your mind and I have a feeling it’s about us.” His voice trembled from the cold air and his breath steamed around his face.

  I opened my mouth to disagree, but couldn’t. I couldn’t lie anymore, not to him, and not to myself.

  “I want you to know that nothing since that night on the staircase has changed, Evelyn. Not how I feel, not what I think. In fact, my feelings for you have only grown stronger.”

  “No, I know. I mean, you’ve never shown me otherwise with that. It’s . . . it’s just . . . that . . .”

  “It’s our situation, I know. It’s rather odd.” He chuckled. “Nevertheless, I still am falling in love with you. I haven’t stopped, not for one second.”

  “I haven’t either. Stopped, I mean.”

  “Well, then who cares what the situation is. It’s actually quite wonderful when you think about it. Out here all alone, in a tiny house . . . planting a garden.”

  We both laughed at his mocking tone.

  “Evelyn, I just don’t think it could get any better.”

  Passion ignited in his gaze. His lips pursued mine, gentle at first, the obsession raged in both of us as his hands wandered from my face down my neck, over my breasts, and around my waist. He drew my body tighter into his for a second and then slowly pulled away.

  With one hand clasped in mine, his other reached, turned the doorknob, and shoved the door open. “We should get inside before we catch our death.”

  Before I could agree, he bent down and scooped me into his arms. Our heated breaths steamed as our foreheads touched and my fingers grasped his wet cotton shirt so tight my knuckles turned white.

  He shut the door, set me down, and pressed me against the wood. He kissed me again with a force that mirrored my own.

  Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.

  My knees trembled, my stomach fluttered, and without thought, my fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt.

  One by one, I slipped them through the holes until the cotton material draped open. Each muscle of his chest defined and I traced the lines with my fingertips.

  He withdrew a few inches, yanked his arms from each sleeve, and threw the wet shirt on the ground. It slapped against the wood as his hands hit the door, one on each side above my head as though he trapped me on purpose.

  His lips pressed against mine once more.

  My hands wandered his arms. My fingers grazed across his skin. His muscles tightened. His breath trembled with my own as he stopped kissing me for a brief second and touched his forehead to mine.

  “Do you want me to stop?” His voice stuttered. “I mean, are you uncomfortable?”

  “No,” I whispered as he leaned into me.

  His lips brushed the bare skin of my neck. Each kiss jolted through my body.

  Don’t stop. Please, please, don’t stop.

  I fumbled with my own buttons, my fingers quivered too much, though, and I nearly giggled out of embarrassment.

  Henry smiled.

  Just as I had unbuttoned his shirt, one by one, he slipped my dress buttons through the holes then unhitched the belt around my waist. He pitched it across the room and the buckled clanked against the wood as it hit the floor.

  His fingers traced along the collar seam before he gently slid my dress off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor around my ankles. With a flick of his wrist, he unhooked my brassiere and slowly slithered the straps off both of my shoulders.

  One of his hands grabbed both of my wrists. He raised my arms over my head and held my wrists against the door.

  I bit my lip to stifle my lustful moan.

  His lips kissed every inch of my neck and traced my skin while his hand wandered around my breasts then down to my belly button.

  “You are so beautiful,” he panted.

  His fingertips traced across the lace rim of my panties, tickling my quivering body. He kissed me as his hand slipped down inside the material.

  I bit my lip again, but couldn’t contain my words.

  “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” My voice barely a whisper, but the volume rose with every word through my intense breaths, spurring his own passion.

  Without saying a word, once again he scooped me in his strong arms and carried me into the bedroom.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I OPENED MY EYES to the sunlit ceiling I’d awoken under for nearly two weeks. Henry slept beside me, his heavy breaths lumbered through soft snores.

  I snuggled against his warmth, the movement stirred him a little, and his arm tightened around me before he drifted off once more. Through my blurred vision, I checked his watch sitting on the bedroom dresser.

  Seven o’clock? On a Saturday?

  Tossing the watch aside, I rolled over and jerked at the covers. Thoughts of coffee and a hot breakfast caused my stomach to growl.

  Scrambled eggs and bacon, or maybe an omelet, or pancakes.

  I licked my lips and slid from the cotton sheets, dressing as quietly as I could before I tiptoed out of the room into the kitchen. As I opened up the icebox; however, my hopes were dashed when three empty shelves stared back at me.

  Drat. I forgot. We have to go into town this morning for groceries.

  My lips curved into a frown and my stomach growled again as I glanced around the room. A glint of silver caught my eye from the set of automobile keys sitting on the dining table, stirring an idea that toyed through my thoughts and giggled through my chest.

  If I buy the stuff before he wakes, I can surprise him with breakfast in bed.

  I tiptoed back to the bedroom and peeked through the cracked door. While Henry still slept, I dug his wallet from the pocket of his pants and withdrew several dollar bills before shutting the door softly and scurrying out of the room.

  I plucked the keys off the table, giving them a jingle as I slipped through the back door and trotted to the barn.

  My nervousness mixed with my excitement just as the purple blended with the pink in the early morning sky, and the crisp spring air lacked any breeze.

  I slid onto the driver’s seat and my fingers curled around the steering wheel. Granted, it’d been years since I’d driven an automobile, but how hard could deserted country roads be, especially in this early morning hour?

  With a flick of my wrist, the engine fired, roaring for a brief moment, before calming into a steady rumble.

  You can drive, Evelyn. You can do this.

  I tugged on the
gear shifter and my foot moved from the break to the gas pedal.

  Press lightly. You don’t want to shoot out of this barn.

  My foot delicately pressed down. The automobile didn’t move.

  All right. I suppose I have to press harder, just a tiny bit, though.

  As I tried again, my foot slipped, forcing the pedal all the way down toward the floor. The automobile lurched forward out of the barn and the tires spun in the dirt. A soft scream left my lips as I slammed my foot down on the break.

  Not that hard, you twit.

  After a few deep breaths, I tried a third time and with a gentle, but firm, press of my foot the wheels obliged, slowly inching forward down the driveway and out onto the street.

  Between my awkward jerks on the wheel and the ruts in the dirt, I bounced and weaved all over the road. Mile after mile, my speed was barely faster than a person walking along beside me. Yet, with my white knuckles and racing heartbeat, I felt as though my turtle pace was too fast.

  You can drive, Evelyn. You can drive . . . you can drive . . . you can drive.

  Finally reaching the market, I parked in front of the building, climbed out, and strolled inside. A rush of thrilled energy bounced in my step as the familiar bell chimed when I shut behind me.

  “Well, good morning to you again, Mrs. Hayes.” Mr. Barnes, the store clerk, smiled.

  “Good morning.”

  “Just you today?”

  I nodded as the plump man smiled and winked. “Just let me know if you need any help.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  I fetched a couple of baskets from the corner and strolled around, plucking different fruits and vegetables from the large bins and jars from the shelves. Next, I made my way to the dairy and meat items, stuffing packages in any nook and cranny I could find in the wicker.

  “Did you find everything all right?” Mr. Barnes asked as I hoisted both of the baskets on top of the counter.

  “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

  “You know, my wife spoke to Mrs. Walker the other day and they are planning on inviting you and your husband for dinner one evening this week.”

  “That sounds lovely.” I feigned a smile, knowing that unless forced to agree by the two women themselves, Henry probably would say no.

  “I’m sure she’ll ask the next time she sees you.”

  “Then, I shall await her invitation.”

  Mr. Barnes began to pluck the grocery items one by one, placing them in a couple of brown paper sacks as his fingers punched different buttons on the old, tarnished cash register.

  “That will be five dollars and twenty cents.”

  I handed him the dollar bills and nodded as he returned my change. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome and don’t be a stranger, if you need anything we’re just down the road.”

  “I won’t.”

  With one sack clutched under each arm, I scurried for the door and trotted back out to my parking space.

  As I stuffed the paper bags on the seat behind the driver door, a black Rolls Royce pulled up alongside and halted next to me. I ignored it at first, not giving it much thought until I slid into the seat, shut the driver door, and glanced over at the two men sitting in it.

  Dressed in black suits with black fedora’s adorning their heads, the unknown and unfamiliar strangers watched me, engaging in a conversation I couldn’t hear, and didn’t exactly know if I wanted to.

  With a deep exhaled breath, I flipped the key, backed away from the building, and headed down the road, trying to ignore the fear that punched my gut.

  The hinted notion the two men had followed me urged my foot to push against the gas pedal with more fervor than before. The engine obliged my demand, accelerating and propelling the wheels to spin faster and faster.

  I checked the rearview mirror a few times, trying to ignore the nerves clawing at me.

  Just get back to the house. Everything will be all right if you just get back to the house.

  As I turned off the paved road onto the dirt, a flash of reflected light blinded me through the mirror. The Rolls Royce sped behind me, clouded in the dust from my automobile, and yet, still visible enough to twist my stomach into knots.

  What should I do, now?

  My foot compelled the engine for even more speed and the rocks on the road pinged hard against the undercarriage.

  If I drive to the cottage, they’d know our hiding place.

  I glanced at the gas gauge.

  Almost empty. I can’t keep driving.

  As the road bended around a corner, the Walker’s home came into view. In mere moments, I’d come upon the cottage. In mere moments, I’d have to make a choice.

  Through the dust, the black car still followed.

  I have to get to the house I have to get to Henry. It’s my only choice.

  My foot stomped down on the gas pedal and as the driveway appeared, I cranked the wheel, speeding toward and around the house near the garden.

  I slammed on the breaks. They squealed and the tires slid in the dirt, puffing a cloud of dust around me. I shut off the engine and leapt from the seat. The airborne soil particles choked and suffocated as I darted through the gate, across the grass, and through the back door.

  “Henry!” My screech echoed through the kitchen into the living room. “Henry!”

  Several thuds vibrated the walls as Henry bumped into dresser and stumbled from the hallway, wiping his eyes and jerking his pants around his waist.

  “They’re following me. They followed me.” I gasped for breath.

  “Who followed you?”

  “I drove into town for groceries this morning so I could make you breakfast. As I was leaving, a Rolls Royce with two men in it pulled up alongside me.” I motioned toward the window. “They followed me, and I . . . I didn’t know what to do.”

  An eerie silence washed over the room as Henry’s fingers brushed the drapes open a few inches and peered through the glass. Seconds ticked by on the grandfather clock in the corner, the tick-tock noise matched the speed of my beating heart.

  “That’s one of Vinny’s automobiles.”

  My blood ran cold through my body. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” A few curse words slipped from his lips while his hand gripped around the material of the curtain. “They found us, Evelyn.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging my shoulders. Henry’s words punched all breath from my lungs. My knees trembled under my weight. My balance teetered, and Henry rushed to grab me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone into town. It was so foolish.”

  “It’s not your fault.” He glanced toward the window. “I’m going to get dressed. Just wait here, all right.”

  As he turned away from me, both the window in the living room and in the kitchen shattered.

  Bullets sprayed the house. Shards of glass and splintered fragments of wood flew in every direction, showering down upon me and cutting my arms, legs, and face.

  My knees hit the hardwood floor and I crawled into the corner of the kitchen near the table, tucking my legs tight into my chest and burying my face. Ammunition whizzed past my head, drowning out the sounds of my screams in my own ears.

  “Evelyn!” Henry shouted. “Evelyn!”

  He slid across the living room floor on his belly, inching toward me as he used his hands to drag his body. Blood dripped from his forehead down the side of his face.

  As our eyes locked, the cascade of bullets ceased and the back door flung open from the force of a hard kick. The hinges broke, the wood cracked, and the entire door plummeted to the floor, slamming hard against the tile in front of me.

  A short, stocky man stepped through the doorframe. His face blinded by the sunlight shining behind him. With a Tommy gun in one hand, he pointed the end of the barrel in my face as he grabbed my arm and hoisted me off the ground.

  “Evelyn!” Henry jumped to his feet.

  The stranger ducked behind the sink
and yanked me along with him. He lifted his gun, sending another dozens of rounds toward the living room.

  I jerked my body several times, trying to free myself from the man’s grip. The harder I fought, the tighter he squeezed, until my arm started to feel numb from the pain.

  Henry’s body stumbled forward and collapsed.

  “No! Henry!”

  I lunged toward him, but the man’s grasp stopped me. He shoved me through the doorframe outside and dragged me toward the Rolls Royce parked on the street. I fought against him. My legs kicked, my arms flailed, my whole body thrashed.

  “Let go of me.”

  “Shut up.”

  The other suited man, taller and leaner in frame, trotted after us.

  “He’s dead. Let’s get her back to Mr. Giovanni.” The stocky one’s abrasive tone matched his gruffness.

  “Are you sure?” the other one asked. “Because if you aren’t sure, Joe, then both of our heads will be on the chopping block.”

  “Of course I’m sure, Hal.”

  Joe yanked me around as though I was a toy doll. He tied my hands and my feet together then grabbed me by the throat with one of his hands. With a flick of his other wrist, he stuck a knife in my face. The cool, sharp blade slid across my skin hard enough to feel, but not hard enough to cut.

  “Now, you ain’t gonna give us any trouble, understand?”

  I nodded, unable to speak even if they expected me to.

  “Did you check to see if she’s packin’ heat?” Hal asked.

  With a fleeting glance toward his partner, Joe chuckled. His hands slid up each of my legs, around my hips and waist and hesitated near my breasts. His lips snarled, exposing his yellow teeth. His breath reeked of cigarettes and whisky.

  “Don’t touch me.” My voice hissed through grit teeth.

  “Yeah, she’s clean . . . and feisty.”

  “Yeah, it’s quite the shame that such a looker is nothin’ but a snitch.”

  Hal spun a handkerchief until it rolled upon itself into a long white rope. He thrust the cotton in my mouth before tying the ends together behind my head.

  “But you ain’t gonna snitch no more once Mr. Giovanni has ya, now, are you?”