by Brian Hodge
“I understand that. I do.” I could only sigh. Thomas grew up in a happy home where everyone honestly believed only good came to good people, and that you could rely on the police to help with any problem that came along. He would never understand. “Look, I know, okay? I know it’s been awful. But do you really think this is the answer?”
“The police can’t help us; they won’t.” I looked at him, searching his eyes for some sign of comprehension.
“Why not? Why do you keep saying that? Because you’re from … out of town?” Out of town. Nice understatement.
“Because we’re women, because of where we’re from, because we have food stamps, because we don’t believe in the same invisible man in the sky that they do! Sure, they’ll give us a paper that says he can’t bother us. Do you really think a paper is enough between The Villain and Durga? I don’t. And, yes. I’ll kill him before I let him get near my sister.” I didn’t bring up Mother. She was taking pills and sleeping all the time. She’d be no help to us at all. To tell the truth, I was damn angry with her.
“Okay. I understand. You’re gonna do whatever you need to. I can’t be with you if you’re going to try to kill someone. I just can’t.” He turned away, adding as an afterthought, “And sex has nothing to do with that.”
“So you’re saying if we were doing it you’d still want to walk away? Walk away from all that sex?” He was lying. I knew he was.
“Oh, Chandra …” he shook his head at me. All of a sudden I missed Father terribly, and was filled with fresh hatred for the men who’d murdered him. They deserved to die themselves. This state finds it more civilized to keep men who murder in cages, until they expire on their own.
It was time. The gun was hidden safely under the bed. I locked the bedroom door before crawling under the bed to retrieve it.
Gone. Missing. The gun, the sheets it was wrapped in. All of it had disappeared from under my bed. Who’d been in here? Damn. I tore the room apart, searching anywhere I could possibly have left it. Of course, it was nowhere. I was foiled. For a brief second I thought of Ganesh, placing an obstacle directly in front of me. I was half tempted to offer him some milk from the kitchen as Durga did so often. I admit I sometimes envied her tremendous capacity to maintain faith in the face of … this.
Now was the time. The Villain would be there. Sleeping. This was the perfect, perhaps the only, opportunity I would ever have. I could have thought it over. I could have asked Grandmother, or even Mother, for advice. I could have even, as Thomas had suggested, called the police. I didn’t. No time for contemplation, only action. In one short hour, I devised a new plan.
Durga and I took the bus to the library, very near his home. There was a gas station only a few blocks away. I could get everything I needed while Durga was safe there. I gave her my library card and told her to check out anything she needed. This is how one establishes an alibi. American television was a gold mine of information for people planning crimes.
“Why? Where are you going?” My sister was no fool, and I didn’t want her even peripherally involved.
“I’m going to talk to Thomas. We had a fight.” The closer you stay to the truth, the better. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Practice safe sex!” Durga fancied herself quite the comedienne.
The Villain’s car wasn’t on the street. It must have been in the garage. My key still worked. I was sure it would. He was sleeping with the radio on, just like always. His love of Jimi Hendrix was one of the only things I didn’t completely detest about The Villain.
I unscrewed the black nozzle on the red plastic canister and turned it around to reveal the pouring spout. This would be gruesome, horrible for him. It was necessary. I was saving Durga. I was empowering myself. That’s exactly what I was supposed to be doing. Defense of the family is paramount. That’s what Mother is always saying, and Grandmother, with her eight different Ganesh figures and constant prayer.
The Villain would probably die from smoke inhalation before actually being burned alive. An involuntary shudder crawled across my back.
I splashed the gasoline on the sofa and made a trail around the room. I pushed his hideous chair in front of the door as quietly as possible. This was the chair no one else was allowed to sit in. A velour throne for the King of Villains. Bastard! My hands shook badly. There’d be no getting out. Near tears, I took Thomas’s Zippo lighter from my pocket and lit the sofa. The blaze was immediate and scorching. Something stirred upstairs. I ran out the front door, leaving it open as I tore off down the street.
“Where have you been? Smoking? You shouldn’t smoke just because Thomas does,” Durga declared, after I’d finally pulled myself together and gone back to find her in the library.
“No, of course not.” I was terrified, shaking.
“You smell like you’ve been smoking. Don’t let him smoke around you anymore. Mother won’t like it,” Durga told me with finality.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
(Mikey)
Somebody’s Getting Married
“Who the fuck cares what the plates look like? I just want to eat off them. In fact, I can use paper plates.” Elise gave me that look, like I should watch my language. What did I care what a bunch of snobby store clerks thought? Women were such a pain in the ass.
“You’re supposed to care because you know how important it is to me.” She looked at me, smiling sweetly. If she were more attractive, it totally would have melted my heart.
“Okay, then I like those.” I pointed at the least ugly of all the plates splayed before me in the store.
“Those? You really like those?” I will never understand why chicks ask for your opinion just so they can shit all over it. I didn’t even care about the goddamn plates; now I had to defend why I thought these were the least ugly.
“Look honey; I want whatever you want. That’s just how much I love you.” I felt like applauding myself; that was just too smooth of me. My fiancée smiled at me again—almost like a mom smile.
She wanted to look at bed linens and ice cream makers, pans for baking cakes, and a whole bunch of boring crap that no straight man anywhere ever could possibly give a damn about.
We spent the whole morning walking around that stupid store, zapping things with a toy gun to make the wedding registry. Apparently, getting married is one of the only times in life where you get to tell people what kind of gifts you want them to buy you. People you invite to the wedding or shower are actually considered rude for not buying off the list you make for them. Can you believe it? It’s too bad they didn’t have any porn at this store. I could have gone for some fresh porn.
After what seemed like half a lifetime, it was finally time to get to my shift at the diner. I thought I might fake sick and go to the zoo again. Now that Project Heavenly Angel was underway, I needed to study enclosures and figure out how to make a nice one for my new gal. I probably shouldn’t think of it as an enclosure, more like a dollhouse. In any case, my Angel would be very happy there, in time.
“You’re late again, Mike,” was the first thing Fran said when I walked in. I prefer something like “hi” or “good morning,” but try telling that to miss pain-in-the-ass Fran.
“I know. Sorry, I’m not feeling very well today.” That sounded a lot better than telling her the truth. She’d be mighty pissed if she knew I was late because I was out working on my wedding registry. A man working on a wedding registry. In addition to being pissed, people around here would laugh their asses off.
“Mike, could you come into the office with me for a sec?” She asked me in a way that suggested I should worry. I did.
“What’s up?” I decided at that moment it was a bad day to ask to leave early. Fuck. I didn’t want to be stuck there all day.
“Do you like working here?” Her arms were folded across her chest. I knew I was about to get fired.
“Yeah, I do.” At least I could go down swinging. Maybe I could convince her to keep me on.
“It does
n’t seem like it. Coming in late, leaving early, paying more attention to the female customers than to your job. You have anything to say to that?”
“Yeah, I really need this job.” Elise would kill me if I got fired from this lousy diner. I’d be a complete fool. What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I do anything right? I was going to lose this shitty job over just being a fuck-up, and then everyone would know how weak I am. Can’t even keep a job mopping floors and doing dishes.
Fran looked at me for a long, hard moment, and I could tell she was trying to decide what to do. Finally she sighed and said she’d keep me on part-time, three afternoons a week. So my pay would be effectively cut in half. She wanted me to be mad. I’d show her. Now I’d have a lot more time to get things underway with Project Heavenly Angel.
“And Mike, I’m really serious about you staying away from the female customers—especially those young girls you’re always bothering.”
“I’m not bothering—”
She put up a finger to shush me. I asked her if she wanted me to stay today or not. She said I might as well work my shift since I was already there.
“Oh, okay … I was just hoping to get to the zoo before it closes.” I said it, then I thought there was a reason why I shouldn’t have.
“Didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?” She didn’t ask it like a question. She asked it like a punchline of an unfunny joke. That’s all I was to her, just an unfunny fucking joke. Bitch.
I left work early, with a wave to Fran, and drove over to the zoo. My first stop would be the grizzlies, since I missed them last time. Grizzlies are pretty fascinating, as far as bears go. Uncle Stan says they’re the “play dead” bear, which means if you’re ever attacked by one, you’re supposed to curl up in a ball and play dead. Black bears, on the other hand, are “fight back” bears, for reasons that must be obvious. You’re supposed to fight back when they attack you, pretend to be all big and scary.
When I looked at the animals, the happiest ones were those that had enclosures like the ones they’d have in the wild. That’s called a naturalistic habitat. That’s what I needed to make for my Angel. I needed to make her a place she’d feel at home in, if that made sense. I was getting to know a lot more about girls the more time I spent with them.
After the grizzlies I went back to see the big cats again. Then the penguins. The penguins had their own special house in the zoo, like the reptiles. Emperor penguins live some of the harshest lives of any animals ever, anywhere. They walk hundreds of miles, sometimes carrying eggs on their little feet, when they won’t see the sun for four months. So in the case of those birds, the zoo was doing them a kindness by not subjecting them to the harsh conditions they’d have to face in the wild.
That’s something I hadn’t thought of. Once my Angel was with me and me alone, she wouldn’t have to deal with school or parents or other men. I’d actually be saving her a tremendous amount of grief and suffering. Teenage years are the worst years of your life, even for a girl that pretty. She wouldn’t have to deal with any of it, thanks to me. I wondered if she’d know enough to be grateful. I’d probably have to explain it to her, but eventually she’d see things right. She’d see in the end how good we were for each other. She wouldn’t have any choice.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
(Dami)
A Blaze Ablaze
These pills had become a tremendous comfort to me lately. I’d heard often about Americans being overmedicated and pill-dependent. But if something was out there that could help, I owed it to myself and my children to make use of it. Like Sondra said, I just had to be careful.
The girls wouldn’t be home from the library for hours, so I decided I might as well get the vacuuming done. Living room, hallway, such mundane tasks. Everything seemed so difficult lately. I felt heavy and tired, aching all over, but no constant stress like before. It was a fair trade-off. I switched the vacuum attachments to clean under the beds. When I reached under Chandra’s bed with the vacuum nozzle, it clogged immediately. A set of sheets had been hastily folded and shoved under the bed. Odd. I intended to fold them up properly and put them away. A handgun fell out of the sheets and onto the floor.
I felt physically sick. My Chandra with a gun. Where she had gotten it? Children can buy guns at school these days. But why? Was she involved in drugs? Or a gang? No … that could not be. Chandra was a good girl. It had to be fear. Fear of Michael. Her Villain. I needed to sit down. It was far too much to process. I wept until I was shaking. What if I hadn’t found the gun? She might have become a murderer, a criminal. This was my doing; I had to fix it. If anyone should kill him, it was me. I decided instantly. It had to be me. And it could not wait. I needed a pill, and a plan.
I put the gun in my shoulder bag. How could I have failed my girls this badly? My own inadequacy consumed me. A mother is all I was. Deep down, I knew it. I’d failed my children, my own mother, myself. This was the only path to redemption. The only way to give my daughters the security they deserved.
Michael was not home, no car in the garage. I let myself into his house easily. The radio was on, playing that music from the sixties that he constantly blared. It sounded like a lot of yelling and screeching guitars to me.
I paced back and forth, waiting for a sound, any sound, to come from downstairs as I formulated my plan. I would tell him in no uncertain terms that he was to leave us alone. If he raged or tried to harm me in any way, I was going to shoot him dead.
“I am going to shoot him.” I said it out loud like an affirmation. I would kill that man if he tried to harm me. I was going to speak to him slowly and sanely, and if he came after me, I’d shoot him and keep shooting him until he was dead. Affirmations raced through my head. My heart pounded relentlessly.
The idea terrified me, took me to a new level of fear. I reached into my handbag for what must have been the twentieth time, ensuring that the gun was still there. My poor Chandra, believing she had to acquire a gun to feel safe in her own home. The shame was overwhelming.
I reached for the bottle of pills from the doctor. I took one, without the benefit of water, and continued to pace the upstairs floor and listen to the radio, which became less offensive with each passing hour. The girls would surely be wondering where I was by now. They’d get along all right, though, for a little while.
I was totally relaxed and confident. I took it as universal approval. This was the right thing to do. I knew it. Holding the gun in my hand, I lay on the bed for just a moment. So tired. I was having a wonderful dream about Manu when his cigar smoke used to fill the room. Manu, taken from me and the girls by murdering criminals. Manu and I should have had years and years together as a family. He should have watched the girls become women, to hold his grandchildren. I felt him here now, his cigar smoke everywhere. My eyes watered a bit, so I kept them closed. Manu, and the emptiness he left in his wake. This would be the last, the very last tragedy to befall my girls. I lay there, exhausted. I heard a door open, and footsteps somewhere very far away. So sleepy. I’d get up in just a minute. There were things to be done.
Chapter Forty
(Mikey)
At Long Last, the Police
I was driving home from the zoo with my new friend, Tiffany, and a couple of cheeseburgers. We were going to stop at my place to get some pot, then head on up to the vacation house. She was hardly an Angel, but she was pretty and nice all the same.
Something was wrong. A bunch of flashing lights peeped around the corner as I turned onto my block. There were cop cars and fire trucks. Then I saw that they were in my driveway and in front of the house. I got the hell out of there, but quick.
“Why are you turning around?” the slender girl with the auburn locks asked, through wide eyes and a darling smile. She wore a comfortable-looking blue dress. My Angel would like it. I’d have to save it for her.
“I forgot to drive you home; where do you live?” She gave me a strange look and told me again. Of course, I had already asked
her that question, but I hadn’t actually listened to her answer, since I had no intention of taking her home. They never seemed to make it back home anymore; they always did something to mess it up and then I either had to shut them up or keep them still or just get them to stop screaming. A lot of them needed drastic measures taken to get them to stop all that crazy screaming, like girls do.
I worried that things might be getting out of hand with these girls. They were having a strange effect on me. I didn’t know how they clouded my judgment. It wasn’t just the Red anymore. They sneaked in here when I was asleep, like succubi. Mama always warned me about succubi but I’d never listened.
That’s why Project Heavenly Angel was such a good idea. My Angel could yell and scream all she wanted and no one would hear her. She wouldn’t be able to run away or anything like that. She’d just be mine for the taking, which meant she’d have to fall in love with me.
This Tiffany girl is saying something, but I’m barely listening. If she’s not going to kiss me or anything, I just don’t see the point of listening. I can’t let her go. She’s seen where I live. I don’t want to drive her all the way to the vacation house. I gotta get back and see what’s going on at home. It’ll be better if I’m relaxed when I get there. I spend some time with her at my favorite rest stop. Before I realize it, an hour has gone by and I have to get going. I leave her some bus tokens and hope she’s done moaning and stuff by the time someone finds her. I notice there’s a red mark on the tree where her head kept hitting it.
“Michael Goretti?” a tall cop in his fifties asked me as soon as I got out of the car. Interrogated in my own driveway. So unfair.