Indigo: The Saving Bailey Trilogy #2

by Nikki Roman

  “I love you,” Dad says, “no matter what you do.”

  “You too, Daddy,” I say, into his shirt.

  “I have to go to work. I’m running late,” he says, pushing my hair behind my shoulders and looking at me with lost eyes, like he is seeing someone else. “You look just like your mother when she was young.”

  “This is her nightgown,” I say, pinching the silky material between my fingers and looking down at it.

  “You are beautiful, like her.”

  My mother, beautiful? Had she been? Had I failed to see her beauty over the years, as those wretched hands of hers caused me so much pain? Perhaps she never was that person in my father’s eyes, perhaps she had been as beautiful as me.

  Dad takes both my arms and caresses his thumbs over the broken skin. “Did your mom ever fix your scratches and bruises?”

  “Sometimes,” I say, “she would feel really bad and take care of me. Other times, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. I think she wanted to forget it had happened.”

  “She has problems, deep-rooted issues. I can’t help feeling that it’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, it’s hers. She chooses to drink the alcohol and take the drugs. Not you.” It dawns on me how these are Spencer’s words, the same ones he tells me every time Mom has damaged me beyond what hugs and kisses can fix.

  “I’m the reason she drinks the alcohol and takes the drugs,” Dad says. “And just so you know, I stopped doing drugs before I left prison.”

  When I become too silent, he turns to his favorite tactic of changing the subject and lightening the mood. “I got you a present, something I think you really need.”

  He hands me a box.

  “Shoes,” I say, opening the lid and pushing back layers of tissue paper.

  “Boots,” we say together.

  “They’re awesome, Dad!” I say, hugging them to my chest.

  “I knew you’d like them. I hope they fit. I really do have to get going now, but you can have anything you want to eat from the kitchen. Please, help yourself. And behave!” He waggles a finger at me. “No more tearing things up.”

  “I won’t,” I say.

  “It’s like I got a new puppy or something,” he says to himself, shaking his head as he walks out of the room. A few minutes later he calls out from the front door as he leaves, “Oh, and did I mention, Bailey, the motorcycle is yours as much as it is mine. The keys are in the dresser… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  As soon as he’s out, I find the keys to Harley in his sock drawer. The sock drawer; so unassuming. I smile wryly. Like father, like daughter.

  I borrow a pair of my his grey prison tube socks, no doubt created by the hands of inmates, to wear with my boots and preserve that new-shoe smell.

  My backpack is on the bathroom counter and in it is a pair of jeans, shorts, and a mini skirt. There’s also a hoodie—I can’t remember where it came from, maybe Spencer or Clad, or some other boy who gave me the shirt off his back. I pick out the shorts and hoodie to wear.

  Dad’s socks peek over the tops of my boots like leg warmers. I run a brush through my tangled tresses and I’m ready to go—to take Harley to the Allie—because I think a gang is something Dad would approve of.

  I try to remember how Dad started Harley and mimic it. After a few attempts she is kicking and bucking beneath me. Now all I have to do is find my way to the Allie, which is harder than it seems because although I am close to Mom’s house, I can’t remember the streets Ashten and I took.

  I pass the Topps grocery store and a few neighborhoods of homes destroyed by the underground children. Then the crunch of broken beer bottles beneath my tires and the smell of burnt rubber, and defecation. I pass it a couple of times before realizing I am at the Allie.

  A fence surrounds the perimeter of the two vacant stores and the alleyway that joins them, a grey chain-link fence. I park Harley right against it, and then climb up the chain-link, kick my leg over, and drop to the other side.

  Holden, Alana, Ashten, and Cairen are propped up against the dumpster. At first, they all seem surprised to see me, but gradually their expressions change, until they look bored with me.

  “Look who came crawling back,” says Cairen.

  “Hey, Indigo,” says Holden. He’s whittling a stick into a spear.

  “A spear?”

  “Never know when it’ll come in handy.”

  “You’ve been gone a long time, Indigo,” Cairen says. He approaches with pointed shoulders, hands locked into fists like he’s ready for a fight. But I’m sure as hell not.

  I back into the fence as he closes in on me. “Alana told me about your mommy, but you know that’s no excuse. I was thinking about boxing you out, I was going to send someone to find you.”

  “I- I’m sorry,” I stutter.

  “You will be sorry after I’m done with you,” he says grabbing me by my chin and forcing me to look at him. “You don’t stay away too long, Indigo, because me and the other Allies start forming these ideas in our heads, start thinking that you’re an Apocy spy, or a cop, or that you’ve just run out on us.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” I say. “I was only gone long enough for my head to heal.”

  “You were gone too long!” He spits. “Don’t talk back!” He raises the back of his hand at me, and slaps my cheek so hard that my head whips to the side and is slapped a second time by the chain-link.

  “Cairen,” Holden says, trying to keep his voice under control. “She’s here now.”

  “And lucky I don’t kill her,” Cairen says, for only me to hear. “Go sit with Alana and Holden, NOW!”

  I place my hand on my cheek and keep it there; an old cut has ruptured and is bleeding onto my teeth. I’m in a gang, not a support group; what did I expect, fuzzy feelings and warm hugs?

  I sit between Holden and Alana.

  “He’s just in a bad mood,” Holden says to me.

  “Fuck yeah, I am!” Cairen bellows. “Shaq made out like a bandit and didn’t share with the family! One grand and I ain’t seen a penny of it. That nigger is going to the hanging tree when we find him.”

  “How did he get the money?” I ask. Holden stares at me, alarmed, as blood dribbles down my chin as I speak. His hand, covered with his sleeve, comes up to my face and wipes away the blood.

  “It was ransom money for kidnapping Miemah. Trenton paid up,” Cairen says. I instinctively look for Miemah’s car and see that it is no longer here. The refrigerator is the only thing in the alleyway aside from a few stacked up tires for burning.

  “What did you do with her car?”

  “Parted it out, got a few hundred for it,” Cairen says. “Alana tells me you had beef with Miemah?”

  “You could say that,” I say with caution.

  “Then you’ll be happy to know the bitch is dead.”

  My hand leaves my cheek and covers my mouth. A gasp escapes me like someone has punched me in the gut. “Dead?” I echo, tears springing into my eyes before I can even grasp that I am at once devastated and horrified with the news.

  The bitch is dead. The scene in The Wizard of Oz when the Wicked Witch of the West is crushed by a house, the munchkins gathering around and singing, is on repeat in my head. “Ding-dong the bitch is dead!”

  “It’s all over the news, her dad beat and strangled her to death,” Cairen says. “But,” he lowers his voice, “I think an Apocy did it.”

  “Her dad?” I cover my mouth as soon as I let the words out so I won’t vomit. I see Miemah’s face through her window, her teary eyes and cut lip after her father hit her. I turn to Alana and say, “We knew.” Alana nods and looks away from me.

  “Are you crying for joy?” Cairen asks, tilting his head at me confused.

  “She’s dead?” Is all I can say.

  “The bitch got what she had coming to her. No one messes with an Allie,” he says nonchalantly.

  “Oh, God,” I say to myself. Oh, God, I keep thinking. Her father kill
ed her and I have the tape to prove it. He beat her too much this time and she didn’t make it.

  “Act normal,” Holden whispers.

  “What… what’s with the fence?” I say, trying my best to keep my voice steady.

  “The Apocys were getting a little too close for comfort, the fuzz too, so we put up a barrier,” Cairen says. “The Apocalypse is up to something, I can smell it coming off them like the stench of a dead body… maybe that’s what they’re up to—a dead body.”

  “Do you know what an apocalypse is?”

  “Yeah, like the end of the world.”

  “In The Bible, it’s the victory of good over evil,” I say.

  “Well, shit, that’s ironic, but don’t go spitting your religious crap on this side of the fence, Indigo. We aren’t exactly Christians, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

  “You know what,” he says, turning to Ashten, “she’s really digging under my skin today.”

  I sniffle just once but it’s all it takes to push Cairen over the edge. He tries to smack me again but Holden intervenes. “You’re going to kill her!” he says. “There, she didn’t run away and she’s not a fucking spy, will you just let her go home and clean the blood out of her mouth? I thought we were supposed to protect each other.”

  “Fine,” Cairen says. “Get the fuck out of here, Indigo.”

  Holden follows me to the fence, his back to Cairen. “It’s a good thing you showed up,” he says, his eyes large, “but Cairen he isn’t in the mood. When he gets angry, he picks on the newbies.”

  “Miemah is dead,” I stress to him.

  “I know, it hit me hard, too. I just can’t believe she won’t be walking down the halls of Surf Side High anymore…” he says.

  “Alana and I knew that her dad was abusive,” I say. “Maybe we should’ve done something?”

  “What could you have done? And really, it’s better this way. She always had it out for you. Now you’re free.”

  Holden helps me over the fence and I land on Harley’s seat. I hold tight to his hand, the fence separating us.

  “You’ll be okay,” he assures me, prying my hand from his, finger by finger.

  Standing on top of the motorcycle, the world looks different from this height, or maybe it’s that I’m looking at it through a new pair of eyes. Free eyes. But I don’t feel free; I feel like someone has ripped out my heart and put it through a paper shredder.

  Chapter 25

  I wanted her dead. Had the gun and bullets, but lacked the courage to do it. Clad got in the way and right now, I can’t forgive him or myself.

  To die at the hands of an enemy, vengefully, is one thing, but to die at the hands of your parent—well, that’s a whole other thing entirely.

  I feel sorry for her. I ache for her. I can’t get her face out of my head. It’s on the stop sign, in the trees, replacing the faces of people driving past. She’s crying at me, yelling at me. I can’t escape her.

  She retreats just long enough for my eyes to switch off the blurring scenery of trees and cars, and take notice of my dad’s truck parked in the dirt of a construction site. I pull in, not sure of what I will say, only that I need to see him.

  “Hey, you can’t go in there!” One of the construction workers yells at me.

  “Oh, shut up,” I grumble.

  Dad is sitting on the first step of an incomplete staircase, holding a hardhat in his hand and taking a breather. The sight of him does nothing in the way of comforting me. I thought he was the one I needed, but now I realize my mother is who I yearn for.

  “I’m going to see Mom,” I say in a burst and run back to the bike. My hair slips through Dad’s fingers as he tries to stop me.

  “No, Bailey, you can’t!”

  I get on Harley and start her up.

  “Bailey, young lady, you do as I say! Get off that bike!”

  I ease off the break and take off in a billow of dust. In the mirror, I see Dad scramble in the dirt and rocks to get into his truck and follow me. It won’t be long before he catches up.

  •••

  The pink and yellow apartment complex is high in the sky, a rainbow, the calm after a storm. It’s a welcome sight. I slow the bike down so Dad won’t run into the back of me. I can hear him yelling at me now, but can’t make out the words.

  I park the bike and walk up to Mom’s door, as blasé as if I were bringing the mail. Looking over my shoulder, I see Dad has caught up. I knock on the door.

  “Bailey, she’s going to hurt you again, get away from there!” Dad says.

  The blinds of the living room window part and Mom’s tired face appears. “Bailey,” she gasps. “Go away! I know you’re staying with your father now!”

  “I need to see you,” I say through the glass. “Please, Mom, let me inside.”

  “Go away!” she screams again, hitting the window with her fist.

  “I want to see Angel, please!”

  “He’s dead. You never came back to feed him, so he starved. Look at that pile of dirt behind you. That’s where I buried him.”

  I trip backward and fall onto a small pile of freshly dug up dirt and grass. My breath seeps from me, and I stare at her with eyes so large, so protruding, I think they will roll out of my head.

  “Bailey!” Dad says, running up to me.

  “She killed him…” I say, shocked.

  “Stay here.” He storms up to the window and slams it with his open palm. “Where’s her dog, Sydney? This isn’t funny!”

  “He’s dead.” Mom shrugs. The blinds swing closed.

  I get up and go to the door; Dad doesn’t stop me, he’s too busy trying to restrain himself from breaking through the glass and strangling Mom. I ring the doorbell and put my ear to the door. An enthusiastic bark greets me.

  “He’s alive!” I’m glad I never trained him not to bark every time someone came to the door.

  “She’s not at the window anymore,” Dad says. “Let’s leave.”

  “No way! I’m not going anywhere without my dog. You can leave but I’m staying.”

  “Honey, you know I can’t leave you here alone with her.”

  “Then help me,” I say. “I know how we can get in. Follow me.”

  I take him to my bedroom window; the boards are still up.

  “She put boards on your window?” he arches an eyebrow. “Where the hell have I been?”

  “Prison,” I say. “Which might help. Maybe you’re strong enough to break through them.”

  “No, no, no, Bailey, this is a bad idea…” he says, shaking his head while at the same time eyeing up the window and calculating how he will remove the boards.

  I go to the window and dig my fingers under the planks of wood. My knuckles touch glass; if I only I could peel them away with my bare hands. “Fine, don’t help me,” I say bitterly. “I got the door down by myself…because I wanted to see you.”

  Dad steps forward. “Let’s get your puppy back,” he says, slipping his fingers under the boards with me.

  I grin. “That’s the Daddy I remember.”

  “It’s splitting.”

  In one heave the boards crack and separate from the nails that hold them. I step back, and watch Dad finish taking the boards down that my mother put up to keep me from seeing him. I think to myself, he’s been here all along. And it’s like he never left.

  “Stand back,” he says, gently pushing me backward with his hand.

  I’m entranced with him in this moment; I adore him like I used to. I didn’t think anyone could take away what Mom had done to me, but with Dad breaking through glass with his fist for me… I feel Mom’s abuse slowly shedding away like dead skin.

  “I’ll go first and then pull you in,” he says.

  A second later, he’s on the other side of the window, peeling back stray shards of glass that could cut me. He lifts me underneath my arms and pulls me through the window, holding me up above the glass on the floor. I remember my feet being sliced
when Mom pushed me into her broken vodka bottle. I imagine it never happens, that as I fall my father’s hands shoot out to catch me, they hold me to his chest safe and warm as they do now.

  “Is that your dog?” He puts me down. Angel runs up to me and slobbers on my face and hands.

  “I think so.” I giggle. “A little more saliva than I remember!”

  The floor creaks as someone walks across it; I raise my head to see Mom standing by my old bedroom door. “Get out of my house!” she screeches.

  In a flash, Dad’s boots are in front of my hands as he stands protectively over me. “Sydney, she just wants a few of her things and the dog,” he reasons with her.

  “Did she tell you?” Mom says a bottle of Grey Goose vodka in her hand. “About it all?” Her eyes are mucousy and her stomach large, protruding from the baby that I hope still lives inside.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” Dad says.

  “She told you, didn’t she? The little demon! Well, this time she’s telling the truth. I did all those things, anything she told you and more!” Her arms flap wildly like she’s a caged bird, her vodka sloshing onto the floor. “I beat the shit out of our daughter!”

  I bring myself to my feet but the movement seems like a bad idea because my knees wobble and knock together. I still fear her, even under Dad’s protection.

  “Sydney, stop talking like that,” he says, maddened by her ability to speak of the abuse so shamelessly.

  “You don’t look much different…” Mom says her neck kinking. “Why did I expect you to look so different?”

  I look around the room, noticing that it’s completely empty. The closet is cleaned out, wires dangle from the ceiling where my fan once was.

  “Where’s all my stuff?”

  “Gone,” she says, pleased with herself.

  The tapes. The only evidence I have to show that Miemah’s dad did indeed beat her. Gone.

  “You bitch,” I mutter, stepping out from behind Dad. “You bitch! Where’s my stuff?”

  “Watch your mouth!” Mom raises the back of her hand at me, her vodka connected to it. I am paralyzed, like I have always been as I watch it come at me, but it never makes contact with my skin. Her hand is wrapped up in my father’s, the power behind it contained but not burnt out.