by C. M. Wright
I make my way out of the garage and slide my crutches onto the porch, where Mel takes them and moves them further back. Then I lift the duffel bag and move it two stairs above me each time my ass moves up.
Finally I'm back at the top and ready to go inside and stay there, at least for as long as I can. Mel attempts to help me stand - I give her an 'A' for effort - and once inside, I drop the duffel bag, lock the door, and let Mel push the button to close the garage doors. Then I tell Mel that I'm getting a shower and if she wants to sit in there with me, she's more than welcome to.
At this point, I just don't care.
I go in and start the shower, then undress and slip a plastic bag over my cast.
Mel had plopped down on the closed toilet lid, and has been watching me this whole time, her expressions letting me know she's judging every part of my body. When I turn sideways and her eyes go to my butt, she gasps and her eyes widen.
"Alright look, Melody!" I snap in embarrassment and humiliation as I fumble to get the towel around me quick. "I know I have a big butt, but really? You don't need to freak out about it!" I tell her with very little pride left.
"What? Oh, no! You don't have a big butt."
Ha. Ha. Right!
"You have really bad owies all over you, even on your butt! Did your Mother and Father hit you too?" she asks me with compassion and concern, laced with deep sadness.
"No, honey. I don't have a Mother and Father like those people were, I have a mommy and daddy just like you. They would never hurt me." My heart breaks as the realization I may never see my "mommy and daddy" again, slaps me in the face.
Or my kids and husband.
I can't stop a sob from escaping, but I swallow the ones that try to follow.
I can't do this in front of Mel.
Her eyes still follow me as I try and figure out how to get inside the tub one-footed. I'm a little embarrassed and nervous about her intense observation of my nakedness, but when I feel the hot spray of the water hit my body, Mel is quickly forgotten―
―until her voice echoes in the small bathroom, which makes me jump and slam into the wall of the shower. I scream out "Son of a bitch!" as my elbow whacks into the metal shower shelf in the corner that holds an assortment of body washes and hair products - all of which fly off the shelf - and with perfect aim, slams into the top of my one good foot.
I jerk open the curtain just enough to stick my head out and glare at her.
"Sorry, what did you say?" I ask her, pissed off and in pain.
"I axed if the shower feels good. I can hear you moanin'," she tells me.
"Yeah, it feels great. Can I finish now?" I jerk the curtain shut before she can answer, and continue getting the conditioner out of my hair. Something bothers me the entire thirty seconds or so it takes for me to wash it out. Finally finished with my hair, I'm spreading facial cleanser on my face when it hits me...I never moaned! I've been in this situation before, this shit's not happening again!
Quickly - and not at all gently - I wash the cleanser off my face, twist the water knobs off, and rip the shower curtain almost off its rings. Then I grab a towel and rub the water off my body a lot harder than I need to, tear the plastic bag off of my cast, then pull on my new t-shirt and then my military pants...at least, I freaking try to!
I forgot to cut the pant leg so the cast will fit!
Shit, shit, shit!
I rip open the cabinet drawers at the same time I ask Mel, in a low and quiet voice, if she knows where a pair of scissors are.
Excited at being able to help, she loudly yells, "Yes!" and jumps off the toilet, heading for the door. I grab her by the back of her shirt and pull her back against me. Smacking my hand across her mouth, I cut off her scream.
Leaning down, I whisper, "Mel, I wasn't moaning. It had to have been a zombie. I can't imagine how it could get inside, but just in case let's stay quiet, ok?" She nods vigorously. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, honey."
She puts her hand over my own, which is still across her mouth, and pulls it away. Whispering too, she says, "It's ok, Aunt Ana. I know you're just trying to protect me."
Aunt Ana?
Well I have to say, it's damn sure better than Buffy! In fact, I kinda like it.
I give a small chuckle and ask, "Ana? Where did you come up with that?"
"It's in your name already, silly!" she tells me.
I grin at her and nod. "I love it!" She beams up at me, and I'm just about to hug her when several loud moans has her throwing herself into my arms.
Chapter Eleven
The force of her body slamming into mine shoves me backwards and the sink counter jabs into my lower back. I ease her away enough for me to straighten and rub the already sensitive spot...yeah, like what part of me isn't?
Mel apologizes over and over, but I just wave a hand at her, still unable to speak without swearing like a pissed-off drunken sailor.
That's worse than my norm, in case you're wondering.
Now that I've heard the moans myself, I know the zombies are definitely outside. Even though they can't reach the windows, it's still scary as hell.
I grab my pants and shove them under my arm, aware of the fact I have no underwear on either - But what the hell am I supposed to do? At least the shirt mostly covers my bare ass - and grab my gun from the counter. I tell Mel to stay behind me, as I slowly open the door. Sure, I know the moans came from outside, and I'm fairly certain they can't get in - but if there's one thing I learned, it's that I should never assume...well...anything!
Naked from the waist down, I check out the house and find no broken windows - except the bedroom, which was already broke - no zombies, or any other living people. Relaxing a little, I ask Mel where those scissors are. She takes me to what appears to be the junk drawer in the kitchen and I see the scissors lying right on top. After I finally get my pants on, I take the duffel bag into the living room and set it on the floor beside the couch.
Expecting Mel to be right behind me as usual, I'm startled when she isn't. Looking back at the door, I see her standing just beyond the doorway, looking very nervous and uncomfortable.
"Baby? What's wrong?" I ask her.
"I'm not ever never s'posed to go in that room, or I'll get in trouble and get hurt," she tells me in a soft voice.
Rage starts to boil inside me again at the thought of anyone laying their hands on this beautiful little girl. It flashes across my mind that I wish those two disgusting idiots were still alive because I'd kill them again, zombies or not!
This is about the time I can count on my good old conscience to speak up, which of course it does.
"Oh sure! Let that rage come out. Maybe this time you'll end up killing Melody. Oh, and stop thinking about all these crimes that you want to get justice for. What about you? How are you any different? Where's your victims' justice? Oh, that's right. You - and you alone - are the worlds judge, jury, and executioner now."
The rage rushes out of me in a burst of breath. Ashamed, I look away from Mel until I can speak again. When I finally can manage to speak without scaring her further with my own emotional bullshit, I look back at the sweet little girl.
"Mel, those people can't ever hurt you or tell you what to do ever again. Do you understand?" She gives a weak uncertain nod. "Mel, they really are gone."
I stretch my hand out to her. "Come on, Sweetie. Come sit by me."
Slowly, she moves toward me, each step light and shaky. As soon as she's close enough, I grab hold of her hand and her body relaxes a little. I sit on the couch and Mel follows, sitting close enough she'd might as well be on my lap.
"Mel, can I ask you some more questions?"
She nods.
"Ok. Did these people...uh...hurt you in any other way?"
"They hit me lots, 'cuz I did bad things."
"What bad things?" I ask her.
"I broke a plate and a glass when I done dishes one time. I can't use the dishwasher, 'cuz they says kids are s'posed to be the dishwasher. An
d I have to clean the whole house - but not this room! And they hit me when I din't get stuff clean the right way. I have to stay in my room and I have to be really, really quiet and stay in there when other peoples come over. But one time I sneezed. I tried not to, but it just came out, and I got hurt real bad for it when the other people went home. They told the peoples I was their neeze, but I don't even know what that means!"
"It would mean that they were your aunt and uncle. Were they, Mel?" I highly doubt it, but crazier shit has happened. For example...zombies.
"No. I never sees them before," she tells me with a confused look on her face. "Why did they lie to the peoples and say that stuff?"
"Mel, they did a bad thing taking you away from your mom and dad. If anyone found out about it, the bad people would have gotten into a lot of trouble. So they lied. Is that all they did to you, Mel? Just hit you?"
"No! They kicked and punched me and throwed me in the wall. Oh, and they pulled my hair really hard too!"
"That's awful! I'm so sorry they did such mean things to you, Melody. I really am. But they're really and truly gone now, and I will do everything I can to protect you."
Thank you God that they didn't hurt her in any other way, although all this was bad enough.
Seeing Mel yawn, I grab my crutches and stand.
"Ok, Mel. Show me that calendar you kept and let's find you something to wear for bed. You can sleep in here with me."
Mel jumps off the couch and - excited and proud - tells me all about how good a job she did remembering to draw a sad face every morning when she woke up. She also reveals to me that she'd had to draw one on the bathroom wall this morning because she was hiding inside since yesterday after lunch.
"Hey, Mel? You hungry?" I ask her, irritated with myself for not once thinking how long she could have been stuck in that bathroom.
"Yes! I could eat a house!"
I laugh. "You mean a horse?"
"No! I meaned a house!"
I laugh again, shaking my head.
She opens the door to her bedroom and I follow her inside, stopping abruptly once I see the too-small room. No pictures, no color. Ugly brown wood floor, no windows, and depressing wood-paneled walls. The bed is a cot with only a top sheet and a thin blanket over a stained and smelly thin mattress, and at the head of the bed is a pathetic-looking thin pillow. It suddenly dawns on me that this had probably been the kitchen pantry at one time.
Mel runs to the bed and pulls a ratty old calendar from under her pillow - which isn't much thicker than the calendar. She brings it to me and I tell her to bring it into the kitchen with us.
I have her sit at the table while I make something for us to eat. Searching the cabinets and then the fridge, I find bacon and eggs.
Oh, yesss! Bacon, how I love thee!
As I cook, I glance at the calendar next to me on the counter. I'm startled to see the year of the calendar is last year's, until I see that her drawn on faces start back in June and go through November, but nothing past yesterday's date.
"Where'd you get this calendar, Mel?"
"Mother telled me to throw it away when I had to clean up. I 'member my mommy had calendars and she said that she keeped track of days with it. So I wanted to too. But if Mother and Father find me with it, I'm gonna be in big trouble!"
I nod and remind her again, when I see and hear the fear she is still unable to let go of, that they're gone for good and she will not get into trouble - then I return to looking at the calendar.
June 24th. So she's still five. And it's been just over four months since she's been here. I wonder if her parents are still alive?
I divide the food onto two plates and Mel takes them to the table for me.
"Mel, how did the man and woman become zombies?"
"The man goed outside even though the lady telled him not to, but he din't listen and when he comed back in, someone bited him on his arm! The lady was mad and scared and made him go to his room. She taked him something to drink and then she screamed, slammed the bedroom door, and runned in here. He bited her too. She was really mad and scared about that. I tried to stay out of her way cuz that's when she likes hitting me, when she's mad. Then I really had to pee so I went to the baffroom. But when I got done, I heard her growling and stuff and she scared me, so I jumped in the bafftub and laid down. After a long time, I din't hear her very much anymore, but I still stayed in there and stayed quiet. Then you came! Thank you for coming, Aunt Ana, and for saving me."
"I'm glad I came and saved you too, Mel. I can't imagine how scared you were. You were very brave and smart to stay in there and hide."
"I know. I coulda been a zombie too, and you'd have to kill me too, wouldn't you, Aunt Ana?"
"I, uh, well...I wouldn't have wanted to - and maybe not, if you weren't trying to eat me for dinner." Ugh! What an incredibly awkward conversation. Definitely not one I thought I'd ever have with a five year old. Hell! With anyone, really.
We finish eating in silence, listening to the undead outside and lost in our own thoughts. When we finish, we put the plates and silverware in the sink then go back to her room so she can get her PJs. Once she has them on, we go back into the living room and she helps me move the recliner closer to the couch. Then she grabs the blankets and pillows from the hall where I'd thrown them earlier and we make our "beds".
After Mel settles in on the couch, I tuck her in and give her a kiss on her nose. Then I settle in the recliner, relieved that I can finally put my foot up. Mel is already asleep and lightly snoring when I reach over the side of the chair, grab the handles of the duffel bag, and pull it up on my lap. My heart races as I stare at the bag, afraid to open it again. But I know I have to, so I finally pull the zipper back.
Chapter Twelve
Reaching inside, I pull out all the clothes until I get to the bottom. Then I reach back inside and pull out the photos, newspaper clippings, and other pieces of paper. I look at the newspaper clippings first. The first one is dated December of last year.
Have You Seen This Missing Couple?
Louis and Pamela Holland have been missing since at least Tuesday of last week. Police were called when Louis's employer went to the couple's home, concerned when Louis missed work both Monday and Tuesday, and never called in.
"It's very unlike Louis - who has only missed two days of work in his thirty-eight years of working for me - to not call me," Charles Kutler said.
Pamela - who does not work - had told several neighbors and friends last week that her son, Jake, was coming for a visit over the weekend. They say she was very excited about the visit with her oldest child, since he is rarely able to take time off work and his parents hadn't seen him in several months. Their youngest son, Gregory, is unable to travel due to medical reasons. Jake, who lives in Illinois, is also the primary care provider for his brother, as he is better able to care for him financially.
When notified by telephone, Jake Holland told Detective Kilgore that he had been unable to visit due to a decline in Gregory's health and hadn't heard from either of his parents since he called to inform them of the change in plans last Friday night.
Jake said he was certain his parents would never attempt to make the trip to Illinois, as his dad was unable to drive long distances and his mother had never learned to drive.
Detective Kilgore, who is handling the investigation, has asked for the public's help in finding the missing couple. If you have any information, please call the Atlanta PD directly at 404-555-8686.
___________________
The article also has a picture of both parents and descriptions.
So...these are Jake's parents.
Some things just aren't adding up in your story, Jake.
Why would he visit them if they were so abusive? Looking at the descriptions, their father is a small man in both weight and height - much smaller than either Jake or Greg, even the way Greg is now. Jake had told me he and Greg had moved to Illinois to escape the harassment and threats from their fathe
r; yet Jake was planning a visit - a much anticipated visit, according to his mother's neighbors and friends - and his whereabouts where clearly well-known.
Disturbed and confused, I put it aside and pick up the next article. Much the same, but dated two weeks later, this article is much smaller -already old news. Basically it just says that the couple have still not been found or heard from, and the police are still asking for help.
I take a deep breath before pulling out the photos that I'd gotten a quick glimpse of earlier. When I do, I lay them on my lap as I move the duffel bag to the floor next to me. Then I start going through them, one by one. The first one is a photo of Jake's dad. He's shown in a room behind bars - a cell? - with a cot and a table attached to a wall. A toilet is in the corner opposite from the cot. His dad is up against the bars obviously pleading with the person taking the picture, tears caught falling down his face. His eyes are bloodshot and his face - which shows obvious fear and torment - is bruised and bleeding. His arms and hands are reaching out in desperation for the person behind the camera.
The second one is his mother. Her face is also bruised and bleeding - and she has the same desperate, fearful, and tormented expression on her own face as his dad has. But his mother is sitting on the cot - her back against the wall, her legs pulled up to her chest, and her arms wrapped around them. She looks defeated, like she's given up.
The third and fourth pictures show them each being injected with something - then all the photos after that show them transforming into something no longer human.
Zombies.
When I pick up the last picture, the food I had just eaten - and which has been spinning around inside my stomach since I first started looking at these pictures - comes gushing out into the empty vase I manage to grab off the nearby table just in time.