I struggled harder. “No, leave me alone! It’s my life.”
“Evie, stop it!” came the voice once more, but accompanied by another slap. This time, the voice was deeper.
“No, Abuela. No!” I shouted, struggling out of the grip that held me. The star-filled sky flashed above again, finally, but slipped away as I overturned and plummeted to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of me and sent new stars into flight, but they drifted, shifting in my dizzy head. Now free, I stumbled to my feet. Trees flashed around me and a hazy figure approached. I stepped away, planting a foot behind me, and then another.
The figure said something, but the words were mumbled. The voice was deeper, but caring like mi abuela’s.
“No, Grandmamma. I love him.”
The stranger came closer and I took another step back, but my foot slipped on the dew-covered grass. “Evie, no,” came Greg’s fear-filled words as the ground vanished beneath me and I dropped over the cliff.
Strong fingers wrapped around my wrist, and the jolt of my body stopping slammed my head against the rocky cliff face. I blinked away the blurriness and tried to look through the murky liquid leaking into one eye. Greg lay above me, his arm extended, gripping mine, his face contorted, each wrinkle of strain illuminated in the pale moonlight. His grip was strong, but the sweat and dew between our skin caused me to slip an inch further away.
“No, Evie. Don’t—leave me,” Greg panted. “Please, Evie—I love you.”
A look into his fearful, silver eyes and the wide whites around them brought me to my senses. “No, don’t look—”
I glanced down at the forest below and the scattered lights of the city in the distance.
“Shit,” he muttered as my panicked eyes found his once more.
Terror thrust itself into my gut and twisted up my torso and out every limb. “Help me,” I pleaded through the blood distorting my vision. Salty tears came unbidden. “Greg, my love, please help me.”
Tears flushed his silvery orbs as I slipped another inch. My bracelet twisted around my wrist, digging itself into the back of my hand as Greg clutched at me. He tried to reach me with his free hand, but his shoulder slipped over the edge and he began to flail, struggling to anchor himself. “Help us! Please!” he shouted, but even the crickets and frogs silenced themselves to his tormented cries. He never took his eyes from mine. They begged for mercy, for compassion… for love.
“Please, Greg,” I croaked, trying to grip his wrist with my other hand, but it seemed like even nature was working against us. I slid another inch until my fingers were crushed in his vice-like grip, and the leather strap, the symbol of our love, clung to my thumb, pulling it from its socket.
“Evie… Evelyn, please, no. Don’t leave me.”
“Please. I want you. I love—” But my thumb slipped free, and the tips of my fingers flew from Greg’s grasp. My words turned to a bloody scream as the compassion, love, and anguish in his face dwindled in the spinning night.
* * *
A thump echoed in my ears as the familiar smell of leather, much older than the chord under my forefinger, drifted away on the patio breeze.
“You okay?” asked Greg Rayson, placing his other hand on my elbow. The sadness had returned to his eyes, but it was accompanied by genuine concern—for me. Jessie took a moment to peer sidelong at me, and his eyes widened. “Here, have a seat,” Rayson continued, motioning me back toward my spot on the picnic bench.
I shook my head. “Nah, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I chuckled and took a deep breath. Something like that, I thought to myself, but let it go unmentioned. “It happens. Not to worry. I got them pretty regular. See, it’s gone now,” I finished with a halfhearted smile, but the vision remained pooled in my lower gut, fighting to bring up my leftover pizza from lunch as though it were a defective toy to be returned to the store. I fought the bout of nausea for a moment more and waved Rayson off. “It’s okay, Greg. Thanks for your concern.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Have we met before?”
Chapter Six
Dilemmas
September 16, 2011
I shook my head. “No, sorry. Jessie’s just mentioned you from time to time. I feel like I already know you.”
Rayson looked from me to Jessie. “Hope it was all good.” The older man smiled and laughed, but it was obviously feigned.
If he feels this guilty, why’d he even come out? If it’d been me, I’d probably be holed up in a room of my house, refusing to step into the light.
Jessie interrupted my thoughts with one of his characteristic smiles and a hearty, “Rayson, you know what’s what. It’s always a chipper place when you’re around, but don’t let the compliment go to your head.” Slapping the scrawny man’s shoulder, Jessie turned around and seated himself, but gave me a look that meant, You’re gonna tell me what you just saw… but later.
Rayson followed Jessie’s lead and took a seat across from us.
“I think I’m gonna grab a plate of somethin’,” I announced to the group. “What’s good here?”
“Good luck findin’ a plate, bub. Everything here comes in a basket,” said Anton, motioning at the red, plastic baskets littering the picnic table, each one lined with a red-and-white, checkered wax sheet, just like you’d find at most local country restaurants.
John chimed in. “Yeah, but just about everything’s super here. Just pick your meat, a few veggies, and how you want the tortillas, and bada-bing—you’s got a meal for champions.” A few men grunted their agreement through stuffed mouths.
“I’ll come with you, then,” Jessie muttered, getting back up. “I gotta get me some beef-tip tacos, deep fried. Oh yeah!” A couple coworkers chuckled at his enthusiasm.
The restaurant service counter was more like a mobile-lunch trailer that had been converted to stationary status with a green, plastic patio roof casting a green hue over everyone and thing within ten feet of the vendor. Even with the dim bulbs strung beneath it, the reflection was somewhat crude. “So what’s the deal?” Jessie mumbled as we approached the counter.
“What do you mean?” I asked, avoiding the subject. Greg was a good man; I could tell. They say that the eyes are the windows to one’s soul, and living with this blessing—or curse, depending on how you look at it—for over sixteen years had proven the saying true time and again. Greg Rayson had been a victim of chance. He’d certainly made some bad choices, quite a few, but he was suffering for it. Did he turn himself in, though? I wondered, the ingrained detective and upholder of the law coming to mind instinctually. Did they find her, bury her, and help her find peace? How long ago did it happen?
“You know exactly what I mean,” Jessie shot back. “Don’t play dumb. I know that look when you see something. After Junior Lee, Rosie, that nurse from the Civil War, and everything else we did after high school, how could I not?”
The mention of the other dead we encountered the year following graduation before Jessie went off to try out for the Capitals sent a shiver down my spine. Each name was a vision, a memory of death, murder, or worse. I shoved the thoughts aside. “Look, Greg’s dealing with a lot right now, but until I know more, just keep in mind that he’s a good guy.” Unfortunately, bad things happen to good people, I added, but didn’t voice that thought.
Jessie tilted his head, his eyes peering out from under his eyebrows at me, which should have been difficult considering the few inches he’d grown and how much taller he was, but the look was knowing and somewhat intimidating, at least it would have been had it not been coming from one of my oldest friends. “Alex, you and I both know you only get those visions when it’s really bad, murder and whatnot. So, give it up. How can he be a good guy if you had one of those dreams, and he’s alive?”
“Remember,” I said as we stepped through the line and up to the counter, “bad things can happen to good people.” I gave the older woman behind the aluminum counter a
smile.
“Hola,” she said, brushing her hands on an apron that had managed to remain mostly white throughout her shift. “What chu want?”
Jessie’s charming smile was back on his face. “Hola, Mrs. Sanchez. You got any good beef tips tonight?”
“For jou, Jessie, always,” she said with a forced smile. The look in her dark eyes was frightening and familiar. It held a pain I’d seen too many times, much like the depression Greg was hiding. “And jou want the same?” she asked, turning to me.
“No thanks. I’ll just have fajitas, chicken, with everything and two drinks.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Everything?”
I nodded.
“Sure thing,” Mrs. Sanchez said, copying down our order on a pad, ripping it off, then slipping it under the heating counter behind her and rattling off a few more instructions to the cooks so quickly I wouldn’t have understood, even if they’d been in English. We moved down the counter. A young woman with tanned skin and raven-black hair handed us two cups and punched in the order. We paid and stepped aside to wait for our orders.
“Look, I know bad things happen to good people,” Jessie said. “You’re the epitome of that.”
“Yeah, trust me. I know.” Flashes of the Drunk, my ex-stepfather, passed before my eyes. The memories were never good: beatings, slurred conversations, and even murders that my real father never would have allowed—that is, had he been alive. “Just leave it be until I find out more. Okay?”
Jessie hesitated, but nodded. “Alright. Have it your way, but you’re sure there’s nothing I need to know.”
“Yes,” I hissed, my frustration beginning to show.
“Fine then. I’ll just take my food and go.” Jessie took the tacos the woman slid to him, and I grabbed my basket from the brushed-aluminum countertop, but with the aroma of seasoned fajitas and peppers came another draft of scented leather.
* * *
The sound of the portable meat grinder echoed through the confined walkway behind the counter. The morning sun’s rays peered through the slatted lattice over the far end of the patio. I pressed more of the large package of meat into the grinder’s opening. It growled, but ground the raw meat, spitting out bloody strings as though they were threads of spinning yarn. I swapped metal pans as the accumulating mound of meat reached the top and pressed the large lump of plastic-wrapped meat further in. The machine growled deeper as the pressure inside grew, but the threads of ground meat continued to stream out.
“Louis!” came a woman’s shout from out back. “Louis!”
“Si, Señora Sanchez. I’m here,” I shouted, turning toward the open back door. At that moment, something seized my hand, tearing through my fingers and jerking my arm further in. I spun around as the gears and blades of the grinder continued their work. Streams of bloody, threaded meat emerged from the other end with interspersed flecks of white. I screamed, trying to pull my hand free while blood—my blood—leaked from the machine’s cracks like flowing oil, coating the counter, my apron, and floor around me. However, the gears turned on, sucking my arm deeper, the edge of the aluminum housing meant to hold the slabs of meat now anchored against my bicep. “Help, Señora Sanchez! Help!” I shouted through the pain. The machine pulled again, its gears growling for more. I jerked harder. “Please, p-p-please,” I begged as tears streamed down my cheeks.
A shriek came from behind me, but it was drowned out by the pain and grinding blades squealing and gripping me harder, pulling my arm deeper into its maw. More screams echoed and two large hands gripped my shoulders. Suddenly the machine hemorrhaged and squealed one last time as its motor ground to a halt.
Someone pulled what remained of my mangled hand and forearm from the machine. I let out a bloodcurdling scream at first, but then, numbed to it all, I watched as though through a muted tunnel. I tried to cling to the counter, but instead toppled a stack of plastic baskets over top me as I collapsed to the bloody floor.
“Louis, stay with us. José… get… hospital,” said Mrs. Sanchez as darkness began clogging my senses. She fell to her knees next to me, her words garbled and unclear.
“But, señora, they will… no… card. They… deport…,” interjected José, a fellow cook who stood on my other side with a similar white apron to mine, yet his was stark white, having been cleaned for yet another day at the Taco Hut. It wasn’t covered in pulpy blood. The contrast seemed odd, yet intriguing in this state of mind.
As my vision faded and the silence of the small food trailer pervaded my thoughts, Señora Sanchez mumbled, “Ah si, ah si. Try Señora Tegura.”
* * *
I stumbled as I took my first step to follow Jessie and winced at the feel of my fingers grasping the basket of food, but the pain vanished. “Jesus,” I whispered. There’s so much going on here that no one even knows about. Taking a moment to regain my balance, I steadied my breathing and glanced around. It was as though the world had gone on, ignorant of Louis’s death. I looked at the basket, one from the stack that must have fallen on him, and then glanced at the counter behind me. He has to be dead, or else the memory wouldn’t have imbued itself. As another chill ran down my spine, I returned to my seat lost in thought.
As I passed Greg’s downturned face, his wrist caught my eye. He sat fondling not one, but two matching leather bracelets in his lap with one hand, rotating them around his wrist and caressing the messages beneath his fingers: Evelyn loves Greg and Greg loves Evelyn. I forced myself to go on and took my seat. The others smiled as they munched on their tacos, burritos, quesadillas, sopes, and various other dishes. Jessie chortled a few times, boasting about one thing or another while Greg nibbled at his own food, but maintained his focus on the bracelets he clutched beneath the table.
“Ain’t this great,” Jessie said through a mouthful.
A few of the men around the long table even had ground beef in their orders, and each bite they took tweaked my stomach. Could they have reported it? Would they use the same meat? The thought of it disgusted me, and each glimpse of the ground product I got appeared to have white flecks of what must’ve been bone peeking out. I closed my eyes and looked again. The flecks were gone. Gotta be my imagination. Shaking it off, I stared into my filled tortillas; thankfully none of it had gone through that machine. I waited for a moment, calming my nerves and my stomach.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Jessie with brows furrowed. “This place is the best.”
“Yeah, so long as you stay away from the ground beef,” I muttered and took a bite.
“What, nah that’s great, too. You can’t go wrong here, man.”
I leaned into him and whispered, “No, seriously, don’t eat the beef.”
Jessie paused mid-bite and stared into his. “Mine’s steak tips. They’re alright, right?”
I glanced at them and nodded. “Just don’t get anything that’s ground up, just in case.”
Jessie quirked his head and looked me straight in the eyes. “In case what?”
The question sent a shiver through me. “I’ll tell you later.”
Jessie continued his silent look for a moment and then turned to Rayson. “So, how’s yours, Ray?”
“It’s Greg, Jessie,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. He took another bite, and a tattoo peeked out from under his shirtsleeve.
“Hey, Greg. Is that a tat?” I asked.
The question caught him off guard. He turned a quizzical eye to me until I pointed at his arm. Understanding dawned on his face, and he lifted the short sleeve to reveal an ankh, but more statuesque than most I’d seen with doubled, three-dimensional walls on its sides. A decorative, forked flag wove itself over and around the arms and the ankh’s circle. On it, a woman’s name was scrawled: Sandy. He took another bite and let the sleeve fall.
Jessie gave me a sidelong look and said with comedic sarcasm, “I just can’t take you anywhere.”
Rayson chortled, almost choking on his burrito, and waved off Jessie’s admonishment. “No, it’s fine. I
got it when my ex-wife Sandy and I were together. She was big into those things.”
“Ah, I see,” I said, curious about Sandy, but unsure how to ask without prying too deeply.
“Yeah,” Jessie added after swallowing a large bite. “Rayson’s from Tranquil Heights, too.”
Greg nodded, and I’m sure my eyebrows rose into the sky. “Oh really?” Tranquil Heights was a small town, and such a coincidence wasn’t likely.
“Yep, born and raised. I haven’t been back in years though.”
“Yeah, he was obviously there some years before us, Alex, but it’s his old stomping grounds, too.”
“I’m sure things have changed a bit since you were there,” I added. “What class did you graduate in, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Greg shrugged. “I ain’t no lady. Don’t care if you know. I’m forty-two. You do the math. I never was any good in that subject.”
Jessie and I both laughed at that. Even Greg joined in, cracking a smile at his own comment. “About the same here,” I replied. “I’m pretty sure my trig teacher—ol’ Stone Face Easely, we called her—was about ready to hog-tie me by the time I left the school.” I didn’t mention the reason, or the way I’d treated her. A part of me regretted speaking to Mrs. Easely that way, but every part of me knew she deserved it.
“Yeah, she was pretty bad,” Jessie said.
Rayson made a face as though considering something, then nodded and said, “I think we’ve all had a couple of those.”
Then, movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Greg’s head swiveled to the TV mounted to the post in the upper corner of the patio. A picture of Evie with a wide grin appeared on the television. She stood amongst the trees in a floral-patterned dress, looking innocent and beautiful as the sun’s rays shone off her midnight-black curls. Below the picture was Evelyn Cervantes—Missing since September 10th. If you have any information call…. I glanced back at Greg to find tears streaming down his cheeks. It took him a moment to notice, but he wiped them away with a bare arm, glancing at the others in fear of being seen until his eyes settled on mine. The others were all enthralled by the television. We exchanged a look. In Greg Rayson’s eyes, a moment of panic fluttered to life before he calmed himself.
A Life of Death: Episodes 5 - 8 Page 14