Debra eyed the side of the road, the trees and the dark, haunting branches they were swaying in the not-so-gentle breeze, thinking, what did I see? Maybe it was an animal, or maybe…
She jumped back into the driver’s seat and turned the car around. Tires crunched the gravel. She drove along the darkening highway slowly, watching the side of road the best she could. The glow of the headlights brightened the road and the grass and all that was around it. Then, when she was beginning to think that she had imagined the girl, she saw something. It looked like a ghost. She held her breath and focused on the image. No… it wasn’t a ghost. It was the girl; she was sitting at the edge of the road holding her knees against her chest.
Debra parked the car. As she stepped outside Jennifer looked up. Her body was shaking and her cheeks were swollen. Her nose was broken and her face was bruised.
“Save me,” she sobbed. “Please… save me.”
“Oh my,” Debra whispered, putting her fingers to her mouth. The girl looked liked she had been attacked by a pack of wolves. “Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.”
“Want me to help?”
“Yes, please. But be gentle.”
Debra got behind Jennifer, put her hands beneath the girl’s arms and lifted.
Jennifer stood with a squeal and a grunt. Her legs were shaking and her breasts were exposed. Fresh tears formed in her puffy, red eyes. She reached out, grabbing at nothing. Her balance shifted and for a moment both woman thought she would fumble and stumble and fall onto the road. She didn’t, mostly because Debra was there to catch her.
Once Jennifer stabilized, Debra said, “I’ll get you something to cover up with as soon as you’re in the car. Okay, Hun? You’re coming with me. I’m going to find you some help.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. What’s your name, girl?”
“Jennifer.”
“Hi Jennifer. My name is Debra and I’ll do what I can. Are you able to walk?”
“I think so.”
“Okay then. I’ll help. Just lean on me if you need to.”
Debra helped Jennifer across the road and into the car. She opened the trunk and looked inside, finding an old sweater that was big and dirty but better than nothing. As Jennifer struggled to pull it over her head, she couldn’t help but cry.
80
James shouted. That’s how he woke up from the nightmare: he shouted. His skin was drenched in sweat, his clammy hands clutched the center of his chest, and his hair was matted and tangled. He had lines across his skin from the ribbed nap of the corduroy couch and there was a thick aluminum taste that had made camp inside the back end of his mouth. For some reason the taste reminded him of napalm.
James sat up, rubbed a numb hand across his face, and coughed. Soot from the fire sprayed into his hand. Then he became worried. Not because of the soot, which was definitely troublesome in its own way, but because of the dream.
The dream wasn’t fading, as dreams usually do. Instead, it was becoming clear. Very clear. He remembered everything about it, every last detail––Johnny’s hand, the bodies coming to life, the way they walked the lonely road: slumping, bleeding, headless, and mangled. The nightmare felt less like a dream and more like a premonition, a forewarning. Something was coming––twenty-plus dead bodies, dragging their broken remains along the dark and desolate highways. They were coming to get him. Coming to kill him.
“Fuck,” James said, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.
He got off of the couch and laid the axe on the floor. Then he put his pants on, rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, and wiped a hand across his mouth. He walked to a window and looked outside. Darkness had fallen. And seeing the darkness, he felt scared.
They were coming––coming to kill him.
James pushed the destructive thought from his mind.
Now what? he wondered. What should I do?
He poured a glass of water, plunked himself into a chair, and emptied his pockets. He had a handful of change, two sets of keys, two wallets, and two cell phones: trophies of the day.
Two phones, he thought. That’s weird. I should have three.
What happened?
Oh yeah. Mia’s phone was thrown out the window.
It was a shame Mia ran away from him, terrified and screaming, thinking he was psychotic, and wishing he were dead. Mia was cute and she couldn’t be more wrong about a person. James was a good man, a caring man. He was honest and decent and loving. And he’d love to know Mia better––maybe take her to a diner and a movie. He thought they’d make a great couple. He wondered if they’d be married. But these weren’t fair thoughts; he knew that. James had a girlfriend that he loved very much. But still, it would be nice to spend time with Mia. It would be nice to have sex. It would be nice to crack her head open with a work boot and eat her brain. He saw that in a movie once: people eating brains, monkey brains. Was it Faces of Death, Mondo New York? He couldn’t remember, but he did remember Japanese businessmen and their wives sitting around a table as a half-dozen screaming monkeys had their skulls smashed apart with a hammer. The people, dressed in their Sunday’s best, ate monkey brains while the animals died in a sea of agony and fear. It was a delicacy, very posh. The wives didn’t seem to care for it but their husbands sure did.
James picked up Elmer’s phone and dialed Debra’s number. Then he ran a butcher’s knife across his forehead, cutting a deep line. He thought he was a monkey. He also thought he was a Japanese businessman.
As the blood began pouring down his face Debra picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
81
The Bakisi killed Officer Gentry quickly. It sliced a thick and fatal laceration across his throat with its fingernails, causing blood to flow down Gentry’s chest, belly and groin. As it happened, Gentry dropped his gun, which landed barrel down on the floor before falling onto its side. Gentry came next, toppling onto his back, convulsing.
Seeing this, Mia released a high-shrilling scream. She threw an arm around her father’s neck and held him tightly.
William coughed out the word, “Run…”
“What?”
Eyes widening, William proclaimed: “I said run! Get!”
Mia looked at her father’s terrible face, heartbroken, understanding. “I can’t leave you!”
“Run or you’ll die!”
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Suddenly William was alive and forceful, pushing Mia away with power and dominance. The look that filtered through his working eye said more than words ever could.
He was trying to save his daughter.
“Look around you!” William’s heart was beating so fast it could generate electricity. “Things have gone bad here! Satan is with us! Get out! GET OUT OF THIS PLACE!”
Mia was stunned. Her father looked insane.
She glanced at her mother, who was still lying in a runner’s pose with her head cocked against the wall. She looked at the fallen officer as he snatched his last breaths and clutched his throat with twitching fingers. She could smell the blood. She hadn’t noticed it until then, but now the odor seemed overwhelming. She realized then what the room had become––it had become a killing box.
Her eyes sprung open; a profound sense of horror awoke inside. It was a fear she had never known––not today, not ever. She felt like she had been submerged into a pool of bloodthirsty sharks while bleeding at the hip. She felt like a feeding frenzy had begun and she was part of the meal, part of the reason the sharks were blood lust crazy. And instead of kicking her feet and escaping the danger––instead of saving herself––Mia was doing the opposite. She was floating in the water, waiting her turn, waiting for those massive teeth, waiting to be ripped apart.
With spittle hanging in a thin line from his chin, William shouted, “What are you waiting for, child? Run!”
Those seven words snapped Mia from her daze. She looked at her father with under
standing in her eyes. She whispered, “Okay.” It was the last word she would say to him.
The invisible Bakisi jumped on her back. Falling forward, she smashed her head off a cupboard door. As pain and confusion mingled together in her mind, the Bakisi sliced William’s neck with that same move it used on Gentry. William gasped and gagged. Blood rolled on top of blood. The air became thicker still.
Dying, William pushed Mia with the last of his strength, and gurgled, “GET OUT OF HERE!”
Mia stood up. She backed away from her father, watching as he died, feeling her fear devour her, feeling the sharks circling. If she didn’t want to become part of the meal it was time to start swimming.
82
The phone rang three times before Debra answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” James said. He placed the butcher’s knife on the kitchen counter next to a toaster; blood dripped down his face. He no longer thought he was a monkey or a businessman. He wondered what the toaster was thinking. It was probably sneaking around behind his back when he wasn’t looking, devising a plan, stealing his thoughts. He would have to keep an eye on it, because the toaster was clearly keeping an eye on him.
“Where are you?” he said.
“Driving.”
“Are you going to be here soon? How far along are you?”
“I have a bit of a problem.”
“Oh no, no. What is it? Are you still coming? Did the cops stop you or something?”
“No. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I have to go to the hospital.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Don’t worry, nothing happened. At least, nothing happened to me. But I’ve got this girl here… her name is Jennifer and she’s hurt. I need to get her to a hospital before I come.”
“Oh.” James said, sounding a bit surprised. He realized that he was bleeding and wondered what had happened. Did something bite him? Looking over his shoulder, he had the feeling that he was being watched. It was probably nothing. Probably just the toaster playing tricks on him. Toasters do that sometimes. Sneaky little critters, they are. Everybody that likes a warm plate of toast first thing in the morning knows that toasters are not to be trusted.
Debra said, “Yeah. Sorry. I picked her up along the way.”
“Is there any other way… not that I don’t understand, because I do. But can someone else take her?”
“I’m on highway sixteen now. What do you think?”
“You’re close.”
“Yeah, I’m right around the corner… but I need to take care of this first.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Okay, so listen. I’m getting off the phone, I’m being rude to Jennifer.”
“Is she hurt bad?”
“She has a broken nose, and maybe a broken rib or two. She pretty beat up.”
“Oh really.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Jesus James, you’re fucking impossible… I’ll tell you everything when I get to the cottage, okay? I can’t talk now. Like I said, I’m being rude. You know how it is.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry about that. I just feel like talking.”
“Well, I’ll be there soon.”
“I love you.”
“’Kay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Saying I love you felt wrong. It felt like a lie. It wasn’t that James didn’t love his girlfriend; he did. But dragging her out to the cottage seemed reckless; it seemed like the wrong move.
Debra should be home or somewhere safe. James was no good now; he was a fugitive, a wanted man. He was ten gallons of trouble in a five-gallon drum. He was a killer, a waste of effort, armed and dangerous––
His train of thought hit an unexpected way station.
“Armed and dangerous,” James whispered with a cursing tone.
Damn, he thought. I forgot the shotgun in the car.
James sat the phone on the counter next to the butcher knife. He unplugged the toaster and covered it with a blanket. (He had to cover the toaster with a blanket to keep the blanket from biting him; sometimes blankets do that. Most people don’t know this, but blankets have very sharp teeth. And they know how to use them.) He put the toaster in a bedroom closet and placed a stack of books in front of the closet door. Then he placed a lamp on top of the books, took the lampshade off the lamp, and placed it on the desk where the lamp once stood.
That aughta hold it, he thought, referring to the toaster. Now where did I put that shotgun?
83
Debra hung up the phone and said, “That was my boyfriend. His name is James. He’s an idiot.”
“You have a boyfriend.” Jennifer said flatly. She was feeling a little better now; she was able to talk. “I kinda figured.”
“Yeah… well, he’s sort of my boyfriend. I still have a good time if you know what I mean. I do what I want to do.”
“Oh, you have one of those relationships.”
Debra smiled. “I do. He doesn’t. At least, I don’t think he does.” After a little thinking she said, “He better not have one of those relationships or I’ll kill him.”
Jennifer nodded. She realized that she didn’t care much for Debra. She figured the girl was a selfish bitch. Having sex with a multitude of people was fine in her books, but lying and cheating on someone that thinks you love them is another. It was the lowest of the low. A relationship is a special thing, based on trust. Assholes like Debra gave sexually driven girls a bad name.
With obvious distaste, she said, “But it’s okay for you to do… whatever, right? As long as you don’t get caught.”
Debra smirked. “What can I say? Guys love me and I’ve only got one life to live. Am I right or am I right?”
“I suppose.” Jennifer forced a smile, disgusted. She clapped a hand softly against her knee. “I appreciate this, you know. I really do.”
“I know.”
“Yeah but, I want to say it again, now that I’ve got my head on a little straighter. Thank you for stopping. You saved my ass.”
“Don’t worry about it. You look a little better, now that you’ve cleaned up a bit.”
Jennifer shrugged, wordlessly explaining herself by gathering a handful of paper towels that were covered in dirt and blood. She put the paper towels in a plastic bag, and tucked the bag beneath her feet. While she did this, Debra turned on the radio and hit some buttons. Snippets of music, static, commercials and news reports came and went. After a brief search they found a station proclaiming to be the ‘home of the hit makers’ playing Elton John.
“Tiny Dancer,” Debra said, laughing and resisting the urge to sing tunelessly. “I love this song.”
Jennifer smiled without forcing it. “So do I.”
As the song played, fingers tapped and Jennifer’s spirits lifted. She listened quietly, allowing the hook of the melody to take her away. It was the beginning of the healing process, a therapeutic moment. It came much earlier for Jennifer then it does for most assaulted women. She was one tough cookie.
The song finished and the car passed a hospital sign; relief washed over both of them.
“Finally.” Jennifer said, turning the volume of the radio down.
Debra smiled. “We’ve only been driving forty-five minutes or so, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. We found a hospital sooner than I thought. To be honest, I’m surprised we found one at all.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It just hurts, that’s all. I want this to end.”
“Where does it hurt most?”
“My nose.”
“Did those painkillers I give you kick in yet?”
“I don’t know. My face is killing me.”
“How about your ribs?”
Jennifer lifted an eyebrow. “Sitting this way makes me feel better. The ribs don’t hurt too much. They do, but… you know. It’s just my nose that’s bugging me. It’s throbbing. And this chipped tooth keeps stinging. I
t hurts when I inhale.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
They drove past a farmhouse that had a dozen cars parked in the long gravel driveway. A bonfire surrounded with people, laughing and drinking, could be seen at the side of the barn. Both girls fell silent as they drove past. They stayed quiet for several minutes.
Jennifer was the first to speak. “You know what? Those pills you gave me are working. I do feel better, now that I think about it.” Jennifer touched her nose delicately. “Why would someone do this to me?”
Debra shook her head and said, “I can’t believe it happened. I’m shocked.” There was a slight pause, then, “It makes me nervous.”
Jennifer nodded her head lightly. “Me too. If I ever see his face again, I think I’ll lay down and die.”
“I hope they catch him.”
“Yeah. I hope he gets what’s coming to him.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know, getting his balls cut off?”
Debra snickered. “Is that all?”
Jennifer changed radio stations. She found a college station with poor reception. The inexperienced disk jockey was fumbling his words, trying to be cool while explaining that he was about to play an instrumental version of How High by Redman and Method Man, followed by a bunch of classic hip-hop: A Tribe Called Quest, FU-Schnickens, Goodie Mob, Nas, N.W.A., Slick Rick, The Roots, and Kurupt. He was a terrible DJ but it was a good string of tracks, not that either girl knew it. They listened for a while then Jennifer changed stations. Now Otis Redding was singing a cover of the Beatles. The song was Day Tripper, which seemed to fit their mood.
“Is this the original version, or is it a cover?” Debra asked.
Jennifer shrugged. “What is this?”
“It’s that Beatles song, I think.”
“I don’t know; I don’t recognize it. It sounds old.”
Eventually, Debra said, “You know… you’re holding yourself together better then I would. I’d be a mess. I’ve been through a few things. Nothing like this, mind you. Nothing even close to this, but I know how I’d be. I be thinking about everything over and over again, making myself crazy, making myself upset. And I’d imagine every nightmare I could. The, ‘what-ifs’, you know? What if this and what if that… I get that way. Sometimes I can’t let things go. But you’re different then me, I can tell. This doesn’t seem to be bothering you at all.”
The Dead Parade Page 16