Devil Moon

by Dana Taylor

  Whatever the truth might be, she’d obviously made her bed; now she could lie in it, without Phil Wilcox.

  As he took heavy steps toward his apartment door, he told himself to forget the woman, turn on ESPN and fall asleep in his recliner. But instead he continued to his dim bedroom and lay back on the bed, hands folded behind his head and stared up at the passing moon through the small window. He'd have sworn a face appeared before the shining orb, a face with wide blue eyes surrounded by soft wheat hair dancing in the breeze.

  He flipped on his clock radio. A haunting, melancholy Elvis asked the musical question, Are You Lonesome Tonight? Phil's heart beat along in 3/4 time.

  Yes, damn it, he was lonesome tonight. He fell asleep with empty arms.

  * * *

  Reba Finn scooted her bottom on the wooden ledge as close to the open window as possible as she gazed at the man on the moon. Even though it was the middle of the night, she couldn't sleep because of all the noise and smells rising from downstairs. Her folks had a houseful of people, all hyped up on the stuff her mom had learned to cook. The stink of the chemicals gave Reba a headache and she hated the way it made everyone act—wild and scary. The pot hadn't been so bad. The smell of it had always been a part of her life, making people quiet and spaced out, not loud and crazy.

  Reba gulped a deep breath from the cold air of the open window, which chilled, but brought relief to her throbbing head. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms about her shins, feeling air swirl around her naked legs covered by a thin nightgown. Faith stirred in her sleep, snuggling a doll in her small bed. Reba looked back into the room, seeing the slant of the loft roof in the blue evening light. The rough unfinished room with its unpainted rafters and walls served as the girls' sanctuary from the rest of the family. Faith's crayon colored pictures decorated the short walls and Reba had managed to paint a garage sale vanity a cheery yellow to brighten the room.

  Sometimes Reba's fertile imagination allowed her to escape reality, and she could be a kidnapped princess waiting for her Prince Charming to break into the evil castle and carry her away. Other times, she just huddled in her bed and managed to sleep away a bad day. Now, she had a new dream, a dream given to her by Mr. Bailey. Maybe she could sing her way out of this hellhole and take her brothers and sister with her.

  Noise from the downstairs got suddenly louder and meaner.

  "Don't you tell me about racing! You don't know your ass from a hole in the ground!" Wade's voice came through the floor loud and clear.

  Fear tinged Ginger's voice. "Let him go, Wade!"

  "Get away from me, you stupid bitch. If it weren't for you and those damn kids, I'd be on the circuit right now. You're just nothing but a weight around my neck—a fat, stinking weight!"

  Even through the walls, a slap resounded followed by objects crashing to the wooden floor.

  Ginger's sobbing reply pierced Reba's soul. "I hate you!"

  Another spaced-out male voice joined the melee. "Hey, man, take it easy. I didn't mean nuthin' by it."

  "I'm getting the hell out of here." Wade said. "Gonna find me a woman who doesn't look like a damn pig. This shit better be cleaned up by the time I get back."

  The screen door slammed. Reba watched Wade's rangy figure climb into his truck. It peeled out onto the gravel road. Ginger's whimpers mingled with muffled comments from other unknown guests.

  Reba inhaled a deep breath and lifted her eyes to the sky, attempting to rise above the disturbing trembling in her stomach. The brightness of the moon offered her hope, brought a hypnotizing sense of calm as she stared and stared at the shining celestial body.

  "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight

  I wish I may, I wish I might

  Have the wish I wish tonight."

  And some wishes are granted by that old Devil Moon.

  Chapter Twelve

  I wonder who's been sleeping in my bed?

  The Three Bears

  Wade's truck jostled over the potholed road leading to the main highway. "Damn, stupid bitch…"

  He pulled out without looking for oncoming traffic, stomped the accelerator and fishtailed onto the black ribbon of asphalt.

  His mind raced in a thousand incoherent directions, shooting images of cars, fireballs and women darted through his head like a waking nightmare. He wanted another hit, needed the burst of euphoria from the crystals, pissed that the elusive state of ecstasy got harder to achieve. He also wanted sex, ached to be buried in a woman and blasted to mindless outer space beyond the reach of inner demons.

  The flash of trees in his headlights reminded him of ghostly figures, the living dead stalking sorry sons of bitches in the night. He passed a few mailboxes clustered together for the rural postal worker's convenience. Short fences and long driveways that lead to homes clustered around the lake zoomed by. He slowed down; his mind worked to bring up a steady idea. That Miss Harris lived around here, just around the next bend. Now there's a sweet piece of ass. Just thinking of her smooth skin and soft hair made his dick hard. He cut his lights and pulled into her gravel road.

  Porch lights seemed to greet him, saying Come on in, Wade. He got out of the truck and slammed the door, not bothering to be quiet. An image of her naked, long legs and high breasts propelled him toward the house. He jiggled the front door. Locked. Walking around to the well-lit back porch, he searched in the flowerpots and under the doormat where he found the extra key in typical Arkansas fashion. The back door opened noiselessly.

  Making his way through the kitchen into the living room, the outside lights offered ample illumination in the still rooms. He stood mesmerized on the plush carpet, inhaling the clean scent of potpourri, soap, and furniture polish. This place didn't stink of ashtrays and baby shit like his house. Even without another hit of the spoosh, he felt better, less jumpy. He moved toward a hallway and guessed which door opened into her bedroom. A strong lavender aroma hit his senses and pulled him into the room. The bed lay bathed in moonlight from the bay window. Fluffy pillows rested on the thick comforter. No beautiful white body lay sleeping in the bed.

  "Shit," Wade said as he realized the house was empty.

  He flipped on the reading light that sat on the bedside table, suddenly needing to memorize the room where she slept. His hands traveled over the cottony softness of the comforter. A group of pictures resting on her dresser caught his eye, and he moved around the bed to see them better. Each family snapshot shone in a fancy frame, one of an old lady, another featured a good-looking middle-aged couple. In one shot he recognized the high school drama teacher hugging Miss Harris. His fidgety fingers caused a domino effect of falling photos.

  Jesus, he loved the smell of the room and wanted to take it with him. He looked around, spotted an old fashioned quilt folded over a fancy wooden frame and pulled it into his boney hands. Visions of her creamy smooth skin danced in his mind as he buried his face in the center of the cotton squares and inhaled deeply. Yeah, it carried the scent of the room, the scent she must carry on that pale body. Damn, what he wouldn't give to hump her brains out. If he couldn’t have Miss High-Tits, he’d keep the smell of her. He clutched the quilt to his chest as he left the house.

  As he pulled out of her driveway, the quilt lay nestled next to Wade on the front seat. He got a glimpse of the neat cabin in his rear view mirror. The purloined key jabbed his thigh through his jean pocket. He'd missed her tonight. But, he thought, I’ll be back, oh yeah, I’ll be back.

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon Randy dropped Maddie home, and hurried to his house after receiving a whining call from Mother Bailey. Relief rushed through Maddie's body as she entered her cozy cabin after the long ride home. Carsickness had stayed her constant companion as the vehicle swayed around mountain curves.

  When she'd awakened in the morning, Randy snored softly in the bed next to her wearing his cartoon jammies as if he'd never left. Both of them pretended that was the case. She might have nudged him for informati
on about the mysterious Brent, but morning sickness hit with a vengeance. Being an expert on nursing sick women, Randy made her stay in bed and brought her crackers and hot tea from the hotel dining room.

  Gratefully home, she dragged her overnight bag through the house into her bedroom, went into the bathroom and shut the door. After ripping off her traveling clothes, she slipped into her robe and felt much better. As she re-entered the bedroom, the shining bedside light grabbed her attention. Funny, she remembered checking the house for any stray lights left on, and the bedroom had definitely been dark when she'd departed. She scanned the room and quickly noticed the tumbled pictures on the dresser. When she realized the quilt frame stood empty, she gasped.

  Gripping the post of the bed for support, a wave of fear and anger washed over her. Someone's been in my bed, said the mama bear. Now she knew why the three bears had chased Goldilocks out of their house. She felt violated, as if she'd been physically assaulted by the intrusion.

  How dare someone come into her house and steal her things! She paced the room, taking mental inventory. Her jewelry box sat on the dresser, unopened. She flipped up the top, expecting it to be empty or obviously rummaged. To her surprise, every necklace, every earring remained perfectly in place. She sat on the bed and realized no common thief had been in her house. Who would come and take only an old quilt and leave behind valuable gemstones? It was downright creepy.

  She left the bedroom and headed into the kitchen to make tea and ponder the situation. Remembering the extra key under the mat, she opened the back door and searched, finding nothing. Great, some weirdo had a key to her house.

  The rest of the house seemed undisturbed, but now she could almost feel a change in the atmosphere. It was just her imagination, of course, but she smelled a musty difference in the air. Who would do such a thing? A stranger? A student from the school?

  Phil?

  Oh my God, was Phil some kind of sneak thief? Would he skulk through her house and take a memento? He hadn't seemed the type, but then Ted Bundy had been a perfectly charming young serial killer.

  She dipped her teabag as she sat at the kitchen table, getting madder and madder at the thought of Phil taking this kind of petty revenge on her. It would serve him right for her to call the police and have his apartment searched. She wanted to pick up the phone and let him have it, give him the biggest chewing out of his miserable football-playing life. But, of course, he'd just deny it and make her feel like an idiot. He was so good at that.

  She swigged a gulp of calming tea. No, she would bide her time. Wait to catch him slip up somehow in a conversation; look for a flicker of guilt in his eyes. She'd see how long he would play innocent.

  Lord, this was the second of Grammy's quilts that had been taken in the night. Looking into the doorway, she saw and heard the old gal herself. "By golly, if I'd known strange men were so interested in my quilts, I'd have just wrapped myself in one to go sparkin' on a Saturday night."

  Maddie rolled her eyes at the Grammyism. Just ignore her and she'll go away. Maddie needed to change clothes and head to a hardware store. Her cabin would have new locks by evening or her name wasn't Madeleine Woodbridge Harris…Bailey.

  * * *

  At the Monday morning faculty meeting, Phil carried in a greasy portion of biscuits and gravy that brought a distinctly porcine smell into the closed room. Maddie sat in her chair as Phil stood behind her before the meeting started. He purposely began a conversation with Phyllis Green as he opened his Styrofoam food tray.

  "Miss Green, do you make biscuits in your Home Ec class? Nothing better than down home fluffy biscuits dripping in ham gravy."

  He stuck his steaming, porky concoction under Maddie's nose. "Care for bite, Mrs. Bailey, before I chow down?"

  Maddie gasped when the greasy odor assailed her nostrils. "No, thank you."

  Miss Green preened at receiving Phil's attention. "Biscuits are very tricky to make just right, Coach. But, I might have the class try them and send a batch over to your football team, if you like."

  Phil continued an innocuous conversation with the cooking teacher as he watched Maddie out of the corner of his eye rise and bolt from the room. Randy quietly excused himself and followed her out.

  The two returned after the meeting commenced. Maddie definitely looked a little green around the gills but managed a haughty glare toward Phil. He returned a knowing smirk.

  Later, Maddie brought up the subject of school thievery, hoping to catch Phil in a moment of guilt. "We've had a lot of back packs stolen lately. I've organized a patrol of student volunteers to stand guard over the packs during lunch hours. Petty thievery will not be tolerated."

  She looked directly at Phil during her last statement, hoping to paralyze him with accusation from her ice blue eyes. Instead, he wore an expression of bored indifference. She huffed inwardly to herself. Maddie longed for one satisfying "gotcha" moment in Phil's face.

  McCall finished the meeting by assigning duties for the annual Halloween Haunted House. "Mr. Bailey, your drama department will build the sets as usual."

  Randy saluted.

  "Coach Wilcox, your football team will serve as monsters and various spooks to scare people as they go through the trail. Miss Har...uh… Mrs. Bailey knows the drill. The two of you can work together coordinating the effort. This is a great fundraiser for us every year and I expect everyone to do their part."

  Phil returned Maddie’s glare of unconcealed hostility across the table. The other teachers rose, chatted and got on their way to class. Randy waved a farewell to Maddie, leaving the coach and the assistant principal to duke it out alone.

  "So, Mrs. Bailey," Phil asked, "will you be going to the Halloween bash as a pumpkin this year?"

  Maddie sharply inhaled, but maintained her composure. "I haven't made up my mind. If you need a costume, I have a cat burglar outfit that would suit you."

  Phil stood up. "No thanks. I think I'll stick with my Knute Rockne get-up."

  She wished he'd just admit his guilt and quit playing games. "Well, yes, I can see how that would definitely be apropos for you."

  "Hey, with me, what you see is what you get, unlike some people I know."

  Maddie took to her feet. "I don't appreciate your innuendos. If you have something to say, just say it. Nobody likes a sneak."

  Phil slowly walked around the table, stalking her with each word. "Okay, lady, I'll lay it out on the table. Has all the baloney that's been going on been because you're—how should I put it–'in the family way'? In other words, are you by any chance–pregnant? Does that explain the rushed hillbilly wedding?"

  When he finished speaking, he stood only inches from her face.

  Oh my God. She wanted to sink into the floor, but instead pulled dignity about her like a protective cloak. "We'd hoped to let a reasonable amount of time pass before making that declaration, but if you're going to go about spewing forth your brilliant deduction, I guess we'll just move up our timetable. You'll have to find other ways of taking out petty revenge. Of course, you already have."

  Phil ran his fingers through his hair. "Jesus, what kind of bastard do you think I am?"

  Thinking of him rummaging through her house filled her with irritation. "I'll have to admit that I was very surprised by your actions, but we really don't know each other very well, do we?"

  "Surprised by my actions?" He appeared momentarily nonplussed. "Okay, the gravy biscuits were a cheap shot. And you're right about us not really knowing each other. I bought that song and dance about your lost love Thomas, but there's proof positive of other players in the field. And, believe me, I don't care if you had an affair with some smooth-talking Southern politician or whoever. I just don't like being lied to. By the way, who is the father? I'm dying of curiosity."

  Maddie's face reflected stony resolve. "Randy is my child's father."

  Phil crossed his arms. "Uh-huh."

  "Randy will make an excellent father."

  "Well, that's your story and you'
re sticking to it. Just do me a favor, sweetheart, don't play me for a sucker anymore."

  Maintaining her ramrod posture, she said, "I never meant to deceive you. I've had to make some plans for my life and they simply don't include you. And I'm grateful I've seen some of your true colors before I got too involved with you."

  The bell buzzed for the first hour. Phil clenched his jaw. "I've got to go. See you at the Halloween shindig. Don't forget to bring your broom stick."

  Maddie blinked as he slammed the door. She looked up at the painted moon on the wall mural. Suddenly, the picture came to life, the lake shimmering under the bright evening sky. The silvery sphere winked and whispered, "Trick or treat."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Catch me if you can

  The Gingerbread Man

  Autumn blew into Beaver Cove like an angry hag whipping tenacious leaves off the trees. By mid-October a carpet of crunchy brown parchment covered the hills. Gnome-like cedar evergreens squatted on the hibernating landscape against a steel-blue sky. Twisted witchy fingered branches cast spells over hapless humans going through the motions of life.

  Phil hunkered down into a routine of school, visits with Melissa, and exhausting workouts. Pam kept up an obvious attempt at reconciliation or at the very least, seduction, but he managed to keep a friendly distance. He knew that beneath Pam's girly smile lay the sharp ability to snap like a barracuda. He wondered when Melissa would come to trust him beyond any ability of her mother to discredit him in his daughter's eyes. Maddie remained an open sore in his consciousness, a nagging tooth; the damned pain in the ass she would always be.

  Maddie's morning sickness improved as her middle thickened and her breasts enlarged. Getting organized for motherhood, she ordered prenatal books and began eyeing maternity clothes. She tried to carry on, be a good soldier, keep a stiff upper lip, but her emotions betrayed her. Always a captive of her hormones, pregnancy brought even greater mood fluctuations. Tears came easily for both happy and sad events, like Hallmark TV commercials and the five o'clock news. When she contemplated being a mother, she felt both thrilled and terrified. And the darned loneliness wouldn't leave her. Even being with Randy had lost its fun. She couldn't muster up her old enthusiasm for pitching in with his next show. Her attention turned inward to the new life within; but joy was elusive with nobody to share the miracle growing within her womb.