Sticks and Stones

by Angèle Gougeon

  He pecked her on the cheek and this time she let him. Then he went down the alley, back to the street, and he was gone. Sandra touched a spot on her back that felt tender, rubbed raw, and headed back inside to order a hot chocolate.

  That night, Sandra dreamed of skulls. They grinned at her and said, You lose. You lose.

  Neither Danny nor Jack woke. Fifteen counties away, a woman fell into a trench and broke a bone. A man lost his leg in a factory accident and a teen too young to have a child gave birth. Sandra Daron cried.

  ~

  Two towns north and Jack came back to their room with a bloody nose. He was snarling mad and Sandra was just surprised that anyone could lay a hand on him anymore – he’d gotten so fast. The dollar bills in his pocket were bloody, all smeared from his knuckles and fingers. When she pulled him into the bathroom, she realized it wasn’t his. The skin was whole and all that was bleeding was his busted nose and he was so angry.

  “Jack,” she whispered, and he slapped the bills onto the table and crawled into bed. He wouldn’t answer her and she sat on the edge of the bunched up comforter, bathed in the flickering television light, wondering what she was supposed to do.

  This had been Daniel’s job, once upon a time. He’d always known what to say, how to sling an arm or quirk a brow and make everything fine again. She had never gotten that right.

  You lose, the skulls had said.

  She wished Lem was here to help her, to tell her what to do.

  Jack had pulled the blankets up over his head and Sandra climbed inside, making sure not to move them away. Jack pulled her close, and the musty cave smelled of them and blood.

  It made her stomach quiver.

  Need you, Lem. Need you so much.

  She’d been so worried lately about Danny that she’d forgotten to worry about Jack at all.

  She bit her lip until the smell of her blood mixed with the other already there.

  ~

  The room turned muggy during the day. They’d been in town five days and Sandra wasn’t quite sure why they weren’t moving on. It seemed dangerous to stay in one place so long, after spending so much time moving day by day. The town was small – maybe five blocks in total. Two restaurants, one bank, a city hall, and a couple of bars. She figured there wasn’t much else to do in a place this small, other than get drunk. There wasn’t even a movie theater, and that thought made her think of the town of Rustic, her first date with Tommy, and how even that friendship had fallen apart.

  Maybe it wasn’t everybody else. Maybe it was her who ruined things. She had promised Lem to take care of the boys, but there was only so much she alone could do. She couldn’t order them to stay in, tell them to quit fighting and playing around. She couldn’t tell them to give up the girls and the hustling and the only fun they seemed to be having.

  She was afraid they wouldn’t listen to her anyway, no matter how nicely she asked.

  Jack was still asleep and Danny hadn’t come home – the first time in a long time – and that made Sandra worry, even if it could be a good thing. He hadn’t had nightmares in days. Maybe he was finally feeling like himself.

  Jack mumbled and turned over, dried bit of red still right under his nose. He’d crawled in with all his clothes on, boots the only thing kicked onto the floor, and his skin was flushed hot beneath the covers, one arm flung out to cool him down, not that the room helped much. The air conditioner was broken, sounded like an asthmatic thing wheezing out its last breaths. It was easier to shut it off than listen to it pump out air that was hardly better than what was already in the room.

  Everything was a tangle.

  Another snorted murmur and Jack moved like he was waking up, face scrunching into something young and innocent. Sandra wanted to get away. Or go into the bathroom.

  She didn’t know what they were doing. Why were they here? Was this how it was going to be from now on – endless cities and towns and places, endless motels and empty houses, trying to stay one step ahead of the people who may or may not be chasing them?

  She was pretty sure she didn’t want to live like that.

  It was like they were nomads and her boys were no longer home.

  What did that mean, then? Leaving?

  Jack opened bleary eyes, foggy green, and she swallowed hard. Never. Never ever, oh god – her stomach rumbled, all the way up her throat and she wanted to be sick.

  She was always trying to run. What good did it do?

  Nothing.

  Her dreams were full of flames.

  “Sandra?” a muffle-moaned voice, and Jack rubbed at his eyes, scratched at the collar of his shirt and then at the line of skin just above his pants, rumpled up shirt pulling taut.

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s pack the bags,” he yawned. “We’ll go when Danny gets in.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” she said, hiding the tremor in her voice. “Let’s go.”

  ~

  She found another man a week later, and this time she didn’t know his name. He had blond hair, cut short, military-style. He was taller than her, but not as tall as Danny, and his hips fit snug against hers, a perfect fit as he ground down, clothes still on. It was an actual club and Sandra had snuck in through the back. The air was filled with smoke, and the workers earned minimum wage and were too blasé to care if someone who hadn’t paid was creeping by.

  He hadn’t even had to buy her a drink. The music’s beat was good and the adrenaline made her body dance; a wild thing that pulled eyes in, made him snag her right away.

  “You got—” he asked, voice rough-tumble, and she shook her head as she pulled him into the back alley.

  “No.”

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck. Just wait. Maybe – let me look.” His hands flitted over his pockets, struggling because she was already undoing the front of his jeans. She had a type, she realized, and it wasn’t those guys in there who got all prettied up with silk shirts and just-so placed hair, smelling like cologne and flashing gold necklaces and silver rings like it ought to mean something.

  This one smelled like sawdust and fresh cut wood. He smelled like outdoors, like work and the beer he’d been drinking, and she stuck her tongue in his mouth, pulled his head down as he still fumbled at his pockets, finally making a relieved, needy sound as he found the rubber he was hoping for.

  “Wait. Just wait,” he pleaded, crinkling the foil wrapper. He reached down and Sandra was still in her jeans and they were both peeling them off, hers getting trapped somewhere on her thighs and fighting to get them lower so that she could wrap around him instead. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said, and sank herself down, hissing at the stretch and burn. “Doesn’t matter.”

  Grunting, he shifted to bear his weight on his arms, palms flush against the building wall. It was some kind of steel and the cold burned her through the fabric of her shirt, jacket riding up at her hips. They slipped and slid, not enough traction, and suddenly his hands were beneath her thighs, lifting her clear, and spinning, pinning her on the crates piled to the left. They swayed ominously but held, and she let her hips rest there, just the right height and rough on her skin. Then he moved and she had to concentrate on hanging on. This wasn’t her, how she was, not really. But it felt right and she tucked her head down so that he wouldn’t see the tears running down her face.

  He was the sort who would stop if he saw.

  The whisper of their skin was lost amongst the music inside the club, the beat and surge of her heart beneath her breast that thumped in time.

  “Get off of her!” He was pulled back so suddenly that she dropped to the ground, feeling the sting of one shoeless foot on cool, cracked cement.

  “What?” she said, as he let out a grunt of pain. A blink and he was on the ground. Danny was there and he was hitting him. And then Jac
k was at her side, frantic and wide-eyed and looking too concerned. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice so quiet that she wasn’t sure he heard.

  Danny wasn’t saying anything, but his face was a cold mask, eyes raw and wild and so unlike him that Sandra froze, let Jack’s spidery fingers run over her. Danny didn’t stop hitting. There was a crunch and the man’s nose broke. His face had gone slick red, and Daniel’s knuckles were red and he just kept beating him.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, no! What are you doing?!” Scrambling, she unwound herself from Jack and lunged forward, arms around Daniel. “Don’t. Don’t Danny. God, stop it. Don’t do this.” And he was still trembling, but he let the man drop to the ground after one last hit, breathing hard like he’d run a marathon, run all the way there maybe.

  His eyes seemed darker.

  And Sandra pled, no, no, dear god no.

  “What…” she said, “what are you two doing?”

  They looked confused, Jack’s brows drawn low and mouth opened and not knowing what to say.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she cried. At her knees, the guy moaned, one hand moving up to clutch his nose, fingers sliding in all the blood. He looked out of it, eyes glazed and hurt and shirt spattered red.

  Danny sat back, leaning further when she hit a hand against his chest. Her legs were cold and the cement bit into her knees. She was sitting there in only her shirt and jacket and they didn’t cover her legs. She was so furious and frustrated that she could scream.

  “Sandra,” Jack said lowly, because he still didn’t know what to say. They had scared her so bad. “We just saw him and—”

  “What?” she demanded. “What?! You automatically thought I was being attacked? The lack of fighting didn’t clue you in? The way we were moving?”

  His cheeks went dark but she was pretty sure he wasn’t blushing. His chin went up, eyes narrowing, and she wanted to say something mean. But it was hard to be angry; if she had been in danger she’d be downright glad. If only Danny hadn’t hit him so many times.

  “Hey,” her fingers touched the man’s shoulder and he winced his swollen eyes open. “It was just sex,” she told the boys. She thought Jack’s jaw made a grating noise.

  “I didn’t want to stop.” Danny’s quiet admission scared her. More than anything. Her fingers curved tight around the guy’s shoulder. She hoped he wouldn’t remember this. “I didn’t,” Daniel said. “I—”

  “Stop,” Sandra whispered. She couldn’t bear to listen. “Help me.” She lifted one arm, tried to get her partner to his feet, and Jack was the first to get there, tugging at a hand and a waist and getting the man upright. “We’re taking him to the hospital.”

  Daniel nodded, didn’t bother arguing. He didn’t even look at her. She got her pants and they got the guy in the car – Tim McCallen, they learned by going through his wallet. He was five years older than her and had six tens in his wallet. Sandra made sure they stayed there.

  The boys waited in the car while she dropped him off. She was going to gain a hell of a less lot attention than two freakishly tall men, especially since one of them was covered in blood that wasn’t his own. They rushed Tim right off, bright lights making his blood and bruises seem unnaturally garish. Sandra hoped he’d be okay. The walk back to the car was slow. She slipped into the back, staring out the window all the way to the motel.

  Only when they were inside did she look over at Daniel. His eyes were gray. Just gray. Like always.

  She felt foolish.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and Jack nodded fast, because he didn’t want her wrath directed at him.

  “I know.”

  It shouldn’t be different, she wanted to say, when a guy likes me. I get jealous and do nothing. You shouldn’t, either.

  Except it seemed it was different with her. It wasn’t right. Not at all. But they had their girls and she apparently had only herself.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, stressing the word. Sandra nodded her head. Then she went into the bathroom, washed her face, and dragged off her jeans. She didn’t bother to change out of her shirt and crept into bed that way, curling herself into as many of the blankets as she could steal.

  Jack and Danny fought in her dreams. They fought until their fists were bloody and their faces were bloody like their bodies, covered in their own war paint, and the whole time they laughed as she screamed.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Danny said with cracked lips.

  Jack kissed her and agreed.

  ~

  Sandra spent more time watching them. Not like before, but more closely. They watched back, and she didn’t look away like them when she was caught, tongue-tied and stomach twisted with all the things that could go wrong. She couldn’t see it – couldn’t see what was to come – and it worried her. Their eyes looked the same, but she wondered if they really were, if she’d even be able to tell.

  There was a picture in her bag, some shot Lem had taken ages ago, all three of them piled together in a tangle of gangly limbs, and her awkward, blushing smile. She took it out when they were gone, memorized the young faces, old eyes, and tried to determine if there were changes. But the photograph was so small and their eyes were squinted against the sun and no one’s had turned black yet.

  Would she be able to tell before that happened? Would it be too late to stop it when she did?

  For a while, they were careful. For her, she thought. But then Jack started to fight again. Daniel didn’t bring any woman back, and he didn’t exactly smell like them, but Sandra knew he was also up to something. He brought back improperly earned money and sometimes had bruised knuckles like his brother. They came home once, together, smiling and drunk, Jack slapping Danny’s shoulder and saying, “We showed them. Those fuckers,” as Daniel just smiled and her stomach sunk lower and lower.

  “Wasn’t going to let them get the drop on you,” Danny said.

  “I could’ve taken them.” Jack shoved away, left his dirty shoes by the door, and slumped onto the nearest bed. His jeans were full of stains and his shirt was smudged with mud and grease, but it wasn’t her bed so Sandra didn’t say a word.

  “That blade was five inches long.” Danny didn’t take his shoes off, but he didn’t sit down on her bed either, so that was okay as well. “They had you pinned.”

  “Pffft,” Jack said, disbelief tapering off as he waved a hand. “I could’ve taken them.”

  “That why you were on the ground?”

  “Shut up,” Jack said, without much heat, and it sounded more like thanks, but he was still riding more adrenaline than Sandra was comfortable with.

  “They okay?” she asked, because she couldn’t leave it alone.

  Danny grimaced and Jack looked at her like she’d sucked all the joy out of the room, which she supposed she had. “Jay-sus. What the fuck?” Sandra had the television on some nature documentary, turtles laying their eggs, and he made a face, still scowling as he reached across the aisle to steal the remote.

  She didn’t ask again. But she noticed that they didn’t answer.

  Five cities over, Jack punched a woman in the jaw. Danny broke some asshole’s arm. In Knox, Ohio, they nearly killed someone.

  Then again in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

  When Sandra dreamed, the world was burning. It was charred, on fire. Smoke filled the sky. “You can’t stop it,” Danny told her and he looked like a skull, a demon head with black eyes and a pale face.

  The fire raged.

  It kind of felt like the end of the world. Except not really. As though the end had only begun. It was the future. And she dreamed of blood and death and fire and she knew exactly what she had to do.

  She went and got the gun out of her bag.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They went north.

  They spent days heading upward and westward, meandering roads and brow
sing cities and sleeping against car windows. Sandra didn’t particularly care where they were going, as long as they were going far away. She couldn’t give a reason for her sudden, overpowering wanderlust, but the boys didn’t ask too hard.

  The days turned cold. The trees became bare, leaves on the ground. The chill was particularly hard on Sandra’s lungs and they stopped at the first thrift store they found, buying sweaters and sweatshirts and warmer jackets. There wasn’t anything in Sandra’s size. Danny bought her a red scarf. She wore it even in the car, warm breath circling back onto her neck. Sandra fell asleep with a Kleenex in her hand. The world turned ash-gray and dripped blood and turned black.

  She came awake with a start and found herself in another town. Sandra didn’t know the name, but it looked just the same as every other small town they’d pulled into. The buildings were old and weathered and looked a little like home, even if they didn’t have a home anymore.

  “Going to go crazy.” Jack’s head was against the window, eyes wide and hands tapping restlessly at his knees. Sandra wanted to say that they were already there. Instead, she coughed, sharp and deep and sounding as though her lungs were coming up. “I need a drink,” he said, and Sandra was glad he didn’t see her tense. She wouldn’t tell them. She wouldn’t. But the gun waited for her in her bag. Waited and watched. “Can we eat first?”

  “Yeah,” Danny said, “why not?”

  The diner was a small place, homey, old and worn. Their platters were heaped with home cooking and, even though chicken noodle soup wasn’t on the menu, the waitress kindly brought Sandra some when asked. It made Sandra think about when she was nine, stuck at home with a cold, with her drunken mother throwing a box of Kleenex at her head.

  Danny glowered at her until she ate her soup.

  She liked Danny’s method much better.

  Across the table, Jack inhaled his food like he’d been starved. Danny stared at the laminated tabletop, looking worried and lost in his head. He picked at his spaghetti and meatballs and drank enough coffee to fuel the entire state of Alaska.

  Jack didn’t pay attention to anything until the officer walked through the door. Then his fork skittered across his plate. It screeched so loud that the waitress and the policeman and the people sitting three tables away looked over. Jack kept his head down, but Sandra saw the tightening of his jaw, the white knuckled grip he had around his fork. She would’ve thought Danny hadn’t noticed, still weary and loose-limbed, perfectly natural except for the sudden tap of his fingers against the table. Jack glared down at his plate and Danny ate another forkful of spaghetti. Sandra’s eyes darted sideways, lifting a spoon of broth to her mouth, and tried not to think of a future where Jack and Daniel shoved a knife through that policeman’s chest.