by Sharon Potts
Jeremy fired. The sound reverberated in the room.
“What the fuck?” Blood spurted from Bud’s shoulder. He seemed momentarily stunned by the sight, as though the blood couldn’t possibly be his.
Pain. Jeremy wanted this monster to feel pain. He fired again, catching the top of Bud’s ear, spraying blood as if from a broken sprinkler head over Elise.
The second shot reawakened the stunned ogre. “Fuck,” he bellowed as he raised his gun toward Jeremy. “You fuck with me, boy?”
Jeremy flicked off the flashlight and dove over his sister, firing into the space where Bud stood. The echo settled into silence. Had he missed?
And then, Jeremy saw a flash followed by another deafening bang. Jeremy’s gun flew out of his hand. It felt like someone had driven a stake through his palm as warm liquid pulsed out.
The monster was just above him. A thick moving shadow.
Elise shifted beneath him, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Take care of your sister.
Whap, woosh, clank. The strap stung Jeremy’s back and a searing pain cut into his neck. The belt buckle clanked.
Jeremy reached his bleeding hand toward the sound. He caught the belt buckle, holding tight as he jerked it out of the monster’s hands. Jeremy thrashed the strap wildly at the shadow just above him. Whap, woosh. Whap, woosh. Whap, woosh, thwump. Bud yelped like an injured dog. “Mother fucker.”
Something hard smashed into Jeremy’s head. He felt himself falling, falling into darkness. Hold on, a voice in his head said. You can do it.
His father was shouting from the sidelines, jumping up and down. Come on, Jeremy. Faster, faster. Beat ’em. You can do it. You can do it!
Jeremy ran, faster, faster. His heart pounding through his chest, his breath coming in short gasps. And when he broke through the finish line, gagging and dizzy and ready to collapse, his dad was there, hugging him tight. So tight.
I’m proud of you, son.
Running feet. Running feet getting closer as he floated away.
“Dad,” he called, as he felt the weightlessness. “Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Freeze. Police.”
As he floated into brightness. Movement, blurs. Everything in motion.
“Freeze. Police.”
Something hard and cold against Jeremy’s forehead.
“Drop the gun, McNally.”
Ellie trembled beneath him.
Take care of your sister.
Jeremy stared into the brightness. The shadow took form. Blood covered McNally’s face, skin hanging in flaps, rage in his eyes. And pain. The monster was in pain.
He pressed the barrel harder into Jeremy’s head.
Jeremy had caused the monster pain.
“Drop the gun, McNally,” someone shouted. “Fuck you all,” Bud McNally said, blood spilling out of him. His hand was shaking, as though engaged in an intense arm wrestle. Slowly, slowly, the gun turned away from Jeremy. Bud fought it, fought the movement as the barrel of his gun turned toward his own face, into his mouth.
His mother’s breath was warm against Jeremy’s cheek, her voice a whisper in his ear. I promise I’ll never leave you.
A single shot rang out.
McNally’s brains splattered on the clean white wall.
They formed a curious image.
Like that of a falling chess king.
Epilogue
Geezer was covered with shampoo. He looked from Jeremy to Elise with a distressed expression. Then he shook his body, and water and suds went flying everywhere in their grandfather’s kitchen.
“I thought you knew how to give him a bath,” Elise said, laughing.
Jeremy marveled at that. Elise laughing. The bruise on her cheek where Dwight had hit her was gone. How much longer would the scars of the last few months take to fade? Elise had been going to therapy regularly since the trauma in their parents’ house, but Jeremy doubted she would ever completely get over the memory of seeing her parents’ mutilated bodies that night and the horror of almost being killed herself.
“I suppose I should cut you some slack.” Her stutter was miraculously gone. “You do only have one useable hand.”
“Thank you.” Jeremy glanced down at his bandaged hand. The bullet had punctured an artery, broken a bone, and torn up a ligament, but the doctor assured him he’d be good as new in a few weeks. Though taking up the violin wouldn’t be a smart idea.
Elise pulled the hose attachment out and ran warm water over Geezer’s back, careful to keep the soapsuds out of the dog’s eyes and ears. She lifted Geezer’s loose skin and washed away all of the shampoo.
Elise had moved in with their grandfather in Coconut Grove.
Their parents’ house on Lotus Island was on the market, but as the real estate agent pointed out, it would likely be a while before it was sold, and then probably to a foreign investor who didn’t know, or care, about the house’s history.
After Dwight’s disbarment, Jeremy and his grandfather had successfully petitioned the court for joint guardianship of Elise. Judy Lieber called from time to time to keep them informed of the case. The SEC had taken over, and Liliam Castillo, CEO and majority shareholder of Castillo Enterprises, had been indicted for stock fraud and her involvement in an extensive money laundering scheme. “Imagine,” Lieber had said one day. “Liliam Castillo continues to vehemently deny any knowledge of the drug operations. She says she was tricked.”
“Does anyone believe her?” Jeremy had asked.
“Are you kidding?” Lieber had said.
There were voices on the porch. Robbie and their grandfather had returned.
“Okay, Geezer.” Jeremy towel dried the dog, then placed him gently on the floor. Geezer gave another shake.
Elise pushed her sleek dark hair behind her ear. She’d recently cut it, and the resemblance to their mother was more pronounced than ever. “What about his next bath?” she said.
“You don’t really want to rely on me for Geezer’s next bath, do you? He gets pretty damn stinky.”
She wasn’t smiling. “I’ll miss you.”
“I know, Ellie.” He kissed the top of his sister’s head. “I’ll miss you, too.”
The old Corvair sparkled in the sunlight. Robbie was wearing shorts and a tee shirt, no makeup, but she was as beautiful as ever. She had gotten her cast off recently and her right leg hadn’t yet regained all its muscle and definition. Jeremy hoisted her suitcase into the trunk and slammed it closed. With the imminent collapse of Piedmont, Coleridge, and Miller— once the twentieth largest CPA firm in the country— Robbie had decided to take a break from the business world.
Jeremy’s grandfather was rubbing his cheek. He had on a clean shirt, and the thick lenses of his eyeglasses shone with clarity. Jeremy extended his hand, but his grandfather pulled Jeremy against him. “You and Robbie come back to us safe.”
Jeremy was reluctant to let go of the man who once carried him high on his shoulders so he could see the world from a fresh perspective. “We will, Grandpa.”
Elise’s eyes were bright with tears. His little sister.
He ran his fingers through her hair, missing the weight of her long thick braid. He imagined she felt freer without it. The umbilical cord finally cut.
Always take care of your sister, his mother had said.
Well, he’d done the best he could. Now it was time to take care of himself.
He and Robbie climbed into the car and pulled away. He could see his sister and grandfather in the rearview mirror, waving good-bye.
The silence felt heavy and awkward as he fumbled for a tape.
“What’s that?” Robbie asked.
“Something my dad used to play.” Jeremy popped the old tape into the cassette deck. “He loved classical music.”
The car filled with the measured, stately entrance of the clarinets. And although he knew what was coming next, Jeremy was still startled by the attack of the brass, then soothed by the blending of the choral voices.
“It’s be
autiful,” Robbie said.
“Mozart’s Requiem. A Mass in honor of the dead. I never appreciated it before, but my father said someday I’d find comfort in it.”
“And do you?”
“Over the last few months, I’ve learned how little I know about life. About my parents. Who I really am. I was always running from them. I believed they were so different from me that we couldn’t possibly understand each other.”
“And now?” She took his hand.
“I’ve learned we’re the same. Their blood runs in me, and that’s a bond that can never be broken.”
He drove the car over the Julia Tuttle Causeway and came to the crest. The bay spread out before them. Jeremy had no specific mission, no tangible goal. But he knew his parents would always be with him. That they had never left him.
The woodwinds were sweet, pulling him in, reassuring him.
His hands settled into the grooves of the steering wheel.
He hoped his parents could rest in peace now, even as he knew his own journey was just beginning.
Dona eis requiem, sang the chorus.
Yes, Jeremy thought. Rest now, Mom and Dad.