Ten Times Guilty

by Hill, Brenda

  He wasn’t there!

  Holding tight to Ritchie, she spun around, scanning the park, but she didn’t see him. Had he left the park while she was on the phone, or was he moving closer to her?

  With a screech of brakes, Amy’s old beige Pontiac slammed to a stop in front of Tracy. All four doors opened and women piled out of the car, rushing to her.

  “Where is he?” Gail asked, eyes frantically searching. “What does he look like?”

  “Are you all right?” Amy stood directly in front of Tracy, but Tracy could barely hear above the roaring in her ears. Her legs shook and her knees almost buckled.

  Gail, motioning to Karen and Joyce to help, offered arms to support her. Amy took Ritchie, and gently talking to him, carried him to the car. Karen helped get Tracy settled in the back seat and they took off.

  After a few moments with the wind blowing on her face, Tracy felt stronger.

  “Thanks, guys,” she said, gazing out the window. “It was him.”

  “You’d better call the police,” Amy told her.

  Tracy stared out the window, but she didn’t see anything but Karr.

  “It won’t do any good,” she said, staring out the window. She saw nothing but Karr. “He found me. Even with the precautions we all took, he still found me. He said he would, he said he had connections. Ritchie and I will never be safe.”

  ***

  Tracy rolled back and forth on her sweat-soaked cot at three in the morning. She kept seeing Karr, leaning against the cottonwood tree in the park, arms lazily folded as he watched her. The scene repeated over and over, like an old, warped video. He’d even flipped a cocky little salute as she shot to her feet in terror, mocking her, letting her know she couldn’t escape from him, so sure of himself, of his power over her while she grabbed Ritchie and ran.

  Bastard, she thought, growing angry. She grew so outraged she no longer felt afraid. And she was going to draw on that anger.

  It was time to stop running.

  Even with all the precautions of the shelter, he still found her. She and Ritchie would never be safe.

  There was only one thing to do. She’d get a gun from Holly and meet Karr in the park.

  This time, the odds would be in her favor.

  ***

  The next morning, Tracy fed Ritchie breakfast and kept watch on the street.

  Was Karr out there?

  Of course he was, just out of sight, delighting in her terror.

  When Ritchie banged his spoon on the highchair, Tracy jerked and spilled a full cup of coffee on the table. It dripped to the floor. Close to tears, Tracy wiped the table, and then began to clean the floor.

  “Good God, it’s not that dirty.” Amy, followed by several other women, entered the kitchen and circled around Tracy.

  “I spilled coffee.” Tracy got to her feet and glanced at the clock over the sink. Almost noon. Would Holly stop by today? Could she really get anything? Even a gun?

  Wendy and Gail made sandwiches for lunch. Tracy put Ritchie in the playpen with Wendy’s children, then returned to the window to stand guard.

  “Honey, he’s long gone by now.” Amy stirred soup. “He wouldn’t risk hanging around here, not after you saw him. He’ll figure you called the police.”

  Gail frowned. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

  “I did, finally, and what good did it do?” Tracy’s voice was flat. “No. He’ll just disappear like before. Then, no matter where I go or how long it takes, one day I’ll look up and there he’ll be, watching me, watching Ritchie. No,” she shook her head, “I have to do this my own way.”

  “What are you going to do?” Wendy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tracy lied, “but I’ll figure out something.”

  Come on, Holly, stop by the house. Wherever you are, please, come to the safe house. I need you.

  An eternity later, just as Tracy was wiping the children’s hands for lunch, Holly breezed through the back door.

  “Hi, guys.”

  Tracy was so glad to see her that she had to restrain from rushing to give her a hug.

  “Need any help?” Holly asked.

  “How about setting the table,” Amy suggested.

  “Okay.” Holly washed her hands at the sink, gathered plates, bowls, utensils, napkins, and, arms loaded, backed through the butterfly into the dining room. Tracy followed her.

  “I want to talk to you about something,” Tracy whispered, looking over her shoulder.

  “Sure.” Holly folded paper napkins and set them to the left of the plates.

  “Did you really mean what you said about buying anything?”

  “What do you want?”

  “A gun.”

  Holly’s eyebrows raised. “What kind?”

  Tracy frowned. She didn’t know anything about the different models. “I have no idea. Any suggestions?”

  “Depends on what you want it for and how much you’re willing to pay.”

  Tracy twisted her grandmother’s ring on her finger. She had worn it ever since her grandmother died and no matter how hard times were, she had never considered selling it. It couldn’t be worth much; it was so old the gold had worn thin. But it was the only thing of monetary value she had.

  “Will this get one?” She twisted and pulled the ring off and handed it to Holly. “It’s real gold, an antique.”

  Holly examined the ring.

  “Real gold, huh? Kinda thin. Won’t get you a real nice piece, but it’ll get something.”

  “I don’t want anything complicated, or anything too big, or bulky, or that would take forever to learn to use,” Tracy said. “I just want something that can kill.”

  Holly’s eyes met Tracy’s. “All guns can kill.”

  “Can you get one for me?”

  “When do you want it?”

  “Now,” Tracy said with grim determination.

  “No sweat.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  That afternoon Tracy waited for Holly. Holding Ritchie, she paced back and forth, from the front of the house to the back. She paused long enough to peer through the kitchen screen door, absently watching a few of the women weed the garden. Earlier she had tried to help, but they chased her back into the house after she yanked out clumps of green carrot tops.

  She walked to the front of the house. Ritchie’s big brown eyes stayed on his mother, and he didn’t squirm or cry like he normally would.

  “Tracy!” Karen called into the kitchen. “Telephone! A Mr. Reynolds, from Social Services.”

  “Be right there.” She wondered who Mr. Reynolds was. He must have gotten her name from Suzy or Sharon at the hospital. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hello, cunt.”

  She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Gripping the phone, she felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. “How did you get this number?” she managed, keeping her voice low. She didn’t want the women in the house to hear.

  Karr chuckled. “You don’t learn very fast, do you? Told you I got connections.”

  Tracy’s knees went weak and she broke out in a cold sweat.

  “What do you want?” she managed to say.

  “Now is that a nice way to talk? No social amenities? No ‘Why hello, Karr, how have you been?’” His voice became harsh, cold. “What do you think I want? I want you. Right now. Meet me in the park.”

  Tracy had to think fast. She couldn’t see him, not until she had the gun.

  “Well?”

  “I can’t,” she said, desperately trying to stall. Think, damn it!

  “You can’t,” he parroted. “Not good enough. You meet me or I’m coming there.”

  “The police—”

  “I can have lots of fun before the cops get there. Depends on how close I am. Maybe I’m right across the street, or, maybe I’m right behind you.”

  Tracy spun around. Nothing there, of course, only the empty dining room. The bile rushed to her throat.

  “Okay,” she s
aid, “but later. I, it’s my turn...” God, what could she say? What would Suzy advise? Suzy! “My counselor is coming over and, and she’d get suspicious if I wasn’t here,” she rushed on, gripping the phone. Please believe it, please...

  He said nothing.

  Tracy felt sweat forming underneath her bra.

  “At nine,” he finally said, “when it’s dark. You be there.”

  ***

  Tracy paced the kitchen floor, watching the yellowed clock hanging over the sink. Eight-fifteen. Almost time to leave.

  Where was Holly? What would she do if Holly didn’t get back in time? And even if she did, could she learn to use a gun that quickly? God!

  She pulled out a chair, sat down, crossed her legs, then straightened them. She reached out to put the salt and pepper shakers in a line and knocked over Karen’s glass, spilling ice cubes onto the table.

  Jumping up, she tore off a paper towel and wiped up the moisture, somehow managing to knock the glass to the floor. It shattered and pieces of broken glass flew in all directions.

  “Jeez,” Holly said, coming through the back door. “What’s all the ruckus?”

  “Thank God,” Tracy said, dumping the glass into the garbage. “Did you get it?”

  “Of course I got it. What’s the big deal?” Holly dropped her purse on the table and placed a paper bag beside it.

  Tracy glanced at the clock again and told Holly about the phone call.

  “I have to leave in a couple more minutes. Show me what you got.”

  Holly opened the bag.

  “Wait!” Tracy said. “We’d better go outside. Anyone could come in here.” She drummed her nails on the table. Maybe Amy could watch Ritchie. Tracy hurried to the living room, Ritchie bouncing on her hip.

  “Would you keep an eye on him a moment?” she asked. “I’ll be in the back. With Holly. She’s going to show me something.” Now she was babbling. Good God, shut up!

  Amy took Ritchie and Tracy slipped out the screen door after Holly. She was trembling violently and her heart raced, so she took a deep breath and bent over, placing her hands on her knees. When she felt a little steadier, she straightened and glanced up.

  In the growing dusk, the sun was making its way over the Rockies, burning the sky a fiery orange. The clouds picked up the glow, painting long amber streaks as far as the eye could see. Tracy drank in the sight and wondered if, after tonight, she would ever be able to see beauty like that again.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Holly asked, her eyes wary.

  “Let’s just get to it. I have to go.”

  Holly shrugged and took a small gun from the bag. “It’s a .22, a handgun. Not the most powerful one around, but I couldn’t talk him into anything else. You sure you don’t got anything else to trade?”

  Tracy shook her head.

  “Man, he’s got the neatest .357 Magnum, pretty rosewood handles and all,” Holly continued. “You talk about power. It’d blow that sucker right to kingdom come.”

  Tracy paused. “Oh, Holly, your view of the world isn’t the best, is it? I’m so sorry for that.”

  “Don’t go feeling sorry for me. You’re the one who’s got a problem. Sure you don’t want that one with the pretty handles?”

  “I don’t have time for pretty rosewood handles. Is this one powerful enough to kill?”

  “Like I told you, they all kill. But to make sure, you’ll have to get close enough to aim it at a good spot, like his head, or his heart. Can you do that?”

  Could she kill someone? Tracy thought of Karr standing over her, his hands twisting, telling her about snapping chickens’ necks. She almost felt his breath on her face as he got up close and compared a chicken’s neck to a baby’s.

  “Show me how it works.”

  Holly placed the small gun flat in her hand, the barrel pointed toward the floor.

  “First thing—don’t ever think a gun is empty. Always point it up, down, never at someone unless you’re getting ready to use it. This here’s a revolver, so you have to load each bullet one at a time. See this thing?” She pointed to a piece of long metal sticking out from underneath the barrel. “This is a pin, here, by this round thing. The round thing is the cylinder, and the cylinder holds the bullets. It turns around and empties as you shoot. That’s why it’s called a revolver.

  “Now. The pin holds the cylinder in place, so it doesn’t flop open. To load it, you just unscrew the pin.” She did so, and pushed open the cylinder. “Holds six bullets.”

  She pulled a small box from the bag and slid it open. Bullets were arranged in neat rows.

  “Just slide one in each little hole, close the cylinder,” she said, “and screw the pin back in. Then you’re set.”

  “That’s all?” Tracy asked.

  “That’s all.”

  ***

  A half hour later, when the sun had dropped behind the Rockies, Tracy climbed the stairs to kiss Ritchie goodnight. His thumb in his mouth, his fingers working the satin at the edge of the blanket, he gave her a sleepy-eyed grin.

  “I love you, pun’kin.” Tracy smoothed the hair off his forehead, then lifted him to hold him close to her heart. She hated to leave him, but knew that if something went wrong as she didn’t make it back, Suzy would see that Ritchie had a good home. Giving him one last kiss, she put him back in bed and, without looking back, quickly left the room.

  At the kitchen door, the gun safely hidden in the pocket of her windbreaker, she gave everything a final look.

  Easing the screen door open, the spring creaked, sounding loud as a bullet. Tracy froze, listening for footsteps heading her way. But all she heard were the normal sounds of the house settling for the night. Slowly pulling the door open enough to slip through, she crept out.

  With the gun securely in her pocket, she was ready to meet Karr.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Tracy waited for Karr under a lamppost by the pond as she peered through the trees, the shadows growing darker as the amber sky faded to black.

  After tonight, she would be either a victor or forever remain a victim. This time, she had to be strong.

  Ritchie’s life depended on it.

  Across the pond, the playground stood silent except for one little boy about four. He was begging his mother for just one more minute on the tall side. She ignored his pleading and was attempting to stuff his flailing arms into a sweater, finally taking his hand and dragging him to their car.

  Tracy shifted from one foot to the other. How eerie the park seemed without children laughing and playing, and how quickly night descended.

  Where was he? How like him to play with her nerves. She checked her watch in the faint light. Ten minutes to ten—ten to forever.

  A sudden gust of wind caused one of the swings to creak; Tracy’s scalp prickled. From behind her came a metallic scraping. She spun around. The wind was pushing an empty soda can over gravel.

  She scanned the shadowy park again, but now it was so dark that she couldn’t see beyond the blur of trees bordering the playground. She slid her left hand into her pocket, touching the gun’s cool metal, drawing reassurance from the .22.

  Tree branches rustled and aspen leaves fluttered silver. Tracy shivered and pulled up the collar of her windbreaker.

  “Yo, Mama!”

  She jumped as two teenage Latino boys called to her and laughed as they strolled into the dark recesses of the park. Don’t leave me, she wanted to call to them. Don’t leave...

  Tracy stood alone, the sounds of traffic behind her. Could she do it? Would she, as someone who’d never held a gun before today, actually pull the trigger?

  “Hello, cunt.” Karr stepped from the darkness and stood close. Too close.

  Tracy took a deep breath. She almost stepped back, but she willed herself to stand firm. She wouldn’t give ground, not this time. He scowled down at her, challenging her with his black eyes, eyes so like her step-father’s, so full of scorn.

  She cringed under that scorn. Her reso
lve, just like her insides, wilted. She trembled at his nearness and finally stepped back.

  He grinned.

  What was wrong with her? Where was all that power she thought she had?

  She stood frozen, staring into his black gaze as he lifted a finger and touched her breast. His eyes held hers.

  She felt him, felt the infinitesimal contact through her blouse and bra. But she couldn’t move.

  How she hated him, but she hated herself even more. She watched every movement as he slowly traced her nipple through her blouse. Grinning, he yanked her to the trees. Like a zombie, she stumbled after him.

  No, not again.

  The faint glow from a lamppost gave just enough light to see him.

  “I’m glad you finally came to your senses,” he said, pushing her to her knees. “Why don’t you show me how cooperative you really are.” He unzipped his fly. “Wrap your mouth around it and give me head. Make it good enough and I just might let that kid live. For a while.”

  Tracy looked at the blood-engorged penis jutting from his pants. A drop of moisture oozed from the head and she watched that tiny little drop as if nothing else existed in the world at that particular moment. Karr pushed once more. She stiffened, her eyes still fastened on that one little bead of moisture. As it grew, so did her revulsion and hatred. She was cringing again, just like she did all those years around Jim, all of the years of fading into the woodwork so he wouldn’t notice her and say anything to make another piece of her disappear. Now she was allowing Karr to have the same control.

  From deep within her spirit, she heard Suzy’s voice, urging her to believe in herself.

  “You’ve got power,” Suzy told her, “universal power, given to all God’s creatures. Just believe it, Tracy. Trust it. You can do it…you can do it.”

  Suddenly, Tracy felt the heat of rebellion rise and fan into a flame to burn throughout her body until every cell was consumed with the certainty of her own worth.

  “Well?” Karr pushed her head down.

  Tracy bent her head as if defeated. Carefully, praying he wouldn’t notice, she eased her hand into her pocket. Her fingers closed around the handle of the .22.