by Rick R. Reed
And there were the times when he cleaned the puke up, the alcohol fumes in it making his head swim. There were the times he helped her walk to her bed, and when she collapsed on it in a heap. Little Jimmy could be counted upon to lift her legs and right them on the bed, cover her and get himself ready for bed.
Jimmy felt the guilt stab at him: a physical pain that wrenched his gut and made his mouth dry. He hated having to care for her from as far back as he could remember, but who else did she have?
It had always been the same story. Jimmy saw, at last, the facade of his mother’s building before him: only a few more blocks to go.
He pictured her then, and the image made him stop for a moment, trying with all his will to force the image out of his mind. But the harder he tried to force the picture away, the harder it persisted, becoming more real. He was suddenly certain his mother was dead, that she’d been killed. He saw Carla sprawled out on the old plaid Early American couch in the living room. She was wearing a slip and nothing more. Her legs had been placed out in front of her, on the coffee table, and her arms were arranged so that they stuck out at right angles to her body. It was as if she had been crucified. In her right hand, she clenched a dildo covered with blood. In her left was an image of herself: a wooden crucifix. Around her neck was a set of rosary beads. Already a ring of bluish-purple bruises rose from underneath the ligature. A knife protruded from her stomach and the blood from the wound stained her slip in a big, red circle. Blood splattered the white walls and ran in streaks.
Jimmy shivered at the thought and hurried toward the building, trying to drive the image away.
*
Avery’s spirit leapt when he saw Jimmy.
Morris was intent on getting back to his truck, parked just north of Lawrence on Kenmore. He hadn’t spotted Jimmy yet, but Jimmy was heading into Morris’s range of vision.
What could he say to divert Morris’s attention? Avery was tired: too much had happened and his thinking was muddled. Nothing came to him. It seemed the harder he tried to think, the more blank his mind became…and the closer the two of them came to Jimmy, who was walking along with just as much hurry and determination as Morris was.
Maybe, if I can get Jimmy to notice us first, he’ll stand a chance of dodging Morris before Morris spots him. But how?
Jimmy and the two of them drew closer and Avery imagined them meeting at the corner of Lawrence and Kenmore. He imagined Morris’s triumph.
“What about Carla?” Avery blurted out, stopping so that Morris was forced to turn his back on Jimmy.
“What are you talking about?” Morris looked irritated.
“What about Carla?” Avery whined, hoping to draw things out as much as possible, giving Jimmy time to see them first (he prayed Jimmy wouldn’t do something stupid like try to protect him).
“What about her? She’ll come to and wander back to her apartment.”
“Yeah, and she’ll probably call the police.”
Morris looked at him for a long time. “So, she calls the police. She doesn’t know my name, my address, what I drive, or anything about me. The best she can do is give them a description. A description, which, from a lush like her, will probably be inaccurate and not a high priority with the police. It would take them days to even find me…that is, if they bothered to make such a search a priority.” He leaned close to Avery and whispered, “And by then, you’ll all be dead.” He smiled. “And I’ll be long gone.” He leaned in close enough to plant a kiss on Avery’s lips. Avery stepped back, surprised.
“C’mon,” Morris said, “we’ve got to get moving.” Morris turned and Avery felt his face go hot; Jimmy was only a few feet away from them, across the street. He hoped the parked cars would keep Jimmy out of Morris’s vision.
But when he looked over at Morris, Avery got a sick feeling in his stomach. Finally, the battle was over. He wished Morris had pulled the trigger back when he’d had it pressed against his temple in the Chicken Arms.
Morris had a slight smile on his face. Avery didn’t want to look to where his eyes had become so intently focused because he knew he’d see the same thing Morris was seeing: Jimmy.
“My God,” Morris whispered. “It’s him.”
“Who?” Avery said, hoping for some miracle.
As soon as Jimmy turned the corner and the two of them were out of Jimmy’s sight, Morris grabbed Avery’s hand. “C’mon, we have to hurry.” Like two lovers holding hands, they ran across the street, heading toward the alley behind Carla’s building. “I just hope we can get back in that fire door.”
Avery wished he could get away from Morris as they hurried down an alley filled with trash and dark shadows. Why hadn’t he shouted out to Jimmy?
Why was he still trying so hard to stay alive?
So many times, he could have sacrificed himself so that the others could live.
Morris yanked on the metal fire door and to Avery’s dismay, it swung open. Morris closed his eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
They hurried up the stairs, and Avery knew what was about to happen as they breathlessly mounted flight after flight of stairs: they would lie in wait for Jimmy in his mother’s apartment.
As they hurried upward, they came across Carla. She lay with her head cocked at an odd angle, her eyes closed, almost looking as if she had passed out in a drunken stupor.
Except drunks usually didn’t have blood running from their ears.
They reached the correct floor, and Morris, so determined to get back to the apartment, wasn’t really paying much attention to Avery. Avery thought he might be able to run away, but remembered his attempted escape at the Chicken Arms and how that almost ended.
He followed Morris into the apartment.
Morris shoved Avery into the room and then closed the door, leaning on it, out of breath and smiling. “It won’t be long now,” he managed to gasp. “It won’t be long at all.”
*
Jimmy yanked open the heavy plate-glass door to his mother’s apartment building. He’d decided he would go to the police with her, even though he wasn’t sure how much good it would do. But at least an attempt was better than running away and hiding.
In the lobby, Jimmy pressed the intercom button to ring his mother. He imagined her hurrying to the door.
*
Avery jumped when the buzzer sounded in the silent apartment. Dwight stopped pacing, turning his head to the little box on the wall from which the sound had issued. “Damm it,” he whispered.
*
Jimmy pressed the button once more. “C’mon, Carla.” Jimmy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Why wasn’t she answering?
*
“Press the buzzer, idiot. We’ll deal with whoever’s out there when we get the chance. Don’t talk to ’em, just buzz ’em in.”
Avery moved toward the buzzer. “It might be Jimmy.”
“Oh, you’re a bright one, aren’t you?” Dwight turned his back on Avery, hissing, “Just…buzz…him…in.
* * *
Jimmy sighed when the buzzer sounded. He pushed through the door and headed toward the elevator that, of course, was once more out of order.
He headed to the back of the building, where the freight elevator was located. He got on, pushed seven, and with a clunk and a whir, the elevator began to lift him.
When he got upstairs, the first thing he noticed was the door. The wood was splintered and cracked around the dead bolt. Suddenly everything inside him turned to ice. Jimmy thought about turning and running.
But what about Carla? She was there alone and drunk…who was going to care about her? Who was going to help her if this guy Dwight had been by and she was in there, hurt?
The image of his mother rose up before him, cruciform and bleeding, sending what felt like a surge of electricity through him.
He didn’t want to think she might be dead, even though he did. He tried to ignore the thought, pretend it was something out
of his range of mental vision.
He opened the door.
The apartment looked as it always had. Jimmy stood for a moment, listening. There was a soft sound, coming from the kitchen. As Jimmy tuned into it, he realized someone was weeping. He took a few cautious steps toward the kitchen, afraid to hurry, because he wasn’t at all sure it was to his mother’s aid he’d be rushing.
He tried to recognize the sound of her sobbing. He’d been around her so little in the past few years, he couldn’t be certain. Yet something held him back. The sobbing sounded deeper than Carla’s might.
Jimmy stopped, halfway between the dining area and the kitchen. If that was his mother in the kitchen crying, he’d know it. There would be no doubt.
Jimmy face went hot and his throat dry as he began to sense that his mother was not in the apartment and he was alone with someone else.
Someone anonymous.
Or, worse, someone he knew.
Just as he turned toward the door, he heard footsteps behind him. He tensed, thinking he should be running for the door, when he heard the voice, plaintive and soft.
“Jimmy?”
He turned when he recognized the voice and looked with relief at its owner.
“Avery. Avery, man, what are you doing here?”
Avery looked bad: dirty, big red rings around his eyes, and clean streaks where the tears had washed away the dirt. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and attempted a smile.
“I got away from him, Jimmy. That guy, that Dwight, he had me and I managed to slip away.”
Jimmy wanted to cry. Maybe there was hope, after all.
“Did you see anybody else? Miranda?”
Avery nodded and this time did manage to smile. “They’re all okay, Jimmy. He’s holding them at his house…you know: tied up.” He stopped for a minute, looked like he was thinking. “But he’s taking good care of them.” Avery faltered again, couldn’t seem to find words. “I don’t know what he wants to do with them. I guess he’s waiting for you and he’s going to—”
“I know what he wants to do with them,” Jimmy said. “He’s going to torture them and kill them, so that they’ll be punished or some shit, right? To make them better people…clean their souls. And maybe to get some kind of weird revenge on me or somethin’.”
Avery nodded, but Jimmy sensed Avery hadn’t heard a word Jimmy had said. What had this guy done to him? Avery kept looking around like he was really tense. Like he felt somebody was going to come up behind him and hit him in the back of the head or something.
Avery said, “That guy really wants you.”
“What do you mean?”
Avery’s eyes got red again and he started crying all over again, shaking and covering his face with his hands.
Jimmy went to him and took his hands away from his face.
“What are you talkin’ about, man?”
Avery sniffed and made an attempt at composing himself. “He’s got your mother, Jimmy. He’s gonna kill her unless you come with me.”
Jimmy swallowed hard. He’d expected this, known it even, somewhere deep inside, but finally hearing it made it much worse than he’d imagined.
It was like his stomach had suddenly been yanked out and in its void was nothing but a black emptiness. He slumped against the wall, closing his eyes.
With his eyes still closed, he said, “I knew it. I knew this would happen.” When he opened his eyes, Avery had come closer to him. He smelled as if he’d been sweating a lot. Jimmy felt sick and Avery’s closeness made it worse. He was afraid he was going to throw up.
“Why are you so close, man?” Jimmy put his hands on Avery’s chest, pushing him back.
Avery leaned in closer, almost like he was going to kiss him. Jimmy didn’t know what was going on; he shuddered. Avery mouthed a word, barely even a whisper.
“What?” The room suddenly seemed smaller, like it was at an angle, like it was moving. Why the fuck was Avery on top of him, whispering?
“Run,” Avery whispered again, barely loud enough for Jimmy to hear.
When he did hear, everything became clear. He looked over to the little hallway that led back to Carla’s bedroom and the bathroom and saw, in the very last dying rays of light from the day, a shadow.
Avery motioned with his head toward the door. He mouthed the word “Go.”
Jimmy wanted to run then, not out the door, but toward the shadow, to have it out once and for all with this creep who was ruining his life and the life of everyone around him. But logic, and memory, told him that would be a bad move.
He turned and started heading quietly but quickly toward the door. There were other people in this building, although he’d never met any of them, and they would at least let him in to use the phone. With any luck, a police car could get here before the sicko and Avery were out of, or very far from, the building.
And then he could find out about Carla, Miranda, War Zone, and Little T. Maybe even Randy.
And he’d have done it all himself, without any help from that priest.
His hand was actually on the doorknob when he felt the rough snatch at the back of his neck, grabbing hold of the gold chain he always wore. Jimmy struggled, trying to get out of the door, not wanting to turn to look at who had gotten him. He surged forward and the chain broke, cutting into his neck. He actually got the door open and was about to scream when a hand, leathery and big, came up to cover his mouth. Jimmy turned and, as he swung around, lifted his leg in a kick that he planted squarely on Dwight’s balls.
Immediately, Jimmy felt himself released as Dwight doubled over, gasping in pain. It sounded as if all the wind in his lungs rushed out at once.
But Jimmy didn’t have time for observation. He rushed down the red and black carpeted hallway, banging on doors.
No one was home or no one was answering. Jimmy kicked one door, over and over, the blows sounding hollow and loud in the empty hallway.
“Open up! Open up! I need help!” Jimmy screamed.
Dwight’s hand was on his shoulder.
Jimmy swung around, freeing himself from the man’s grasp. I—
“What’s the problem?”
Both Jimmy and Dwight turned to see an Indian man, peering out of his door at them. His dark skin disappeared into a cream-colored turban wrapped around his head.
Dwight began. “I’m the boy’s father.”
“He’s not!” Jimmy brushed by the Indian man, dashing into the apartment. “Where’s your phone?” Jimmy yelled. “Where’s your fuckin’ phone?” Jimmy scanned every surface, every table and countertop, for evidence of a telephone and found nothing.
The Indian man was staring at him. “Tell me what is the problem. Then we’ll see about using the telephone.”
“The problem is this asshole’s tryin’ to kill me—”
“Now, Jimmy.” Dwight took on a placating tone and Jimmy could see how Dwight played for sympathy with the Indian man, giving him one of those “what are you going to do with these kids” looks.
At least the Indian didn’t look like he was buying. He pointed to the hallway Jimmy knew led to the bedroom. “In there.”
Jimmy hurried down the hall, hearing Dwight as he headed back.
“This is crazy. You’ll find out real quick that boy’s trouble.” Dwight raised his voice and Jimmy was certain the additional volume was meant for him. “You let him make his little call. I’ve got to be going. There’s someplace I need to be taking his brother, Avery. I need to get him there real quick.”
Jimmy swallowed and picked up the phone. He punched in 911, knowing that Dwight would leave with Avery now and that the police might never make it there in time.
Still, a chance was a chance. When the operator answered, Jimmy told her that someone was trying to kill him, gave her his location, and hung up the phone.
He rushed back into the living room, where the Indian stood before the now closed door, leaning against it, his
arms folded across his chest.
“I want to know what’s going on.”
“Get the fuck out of my way.” Jimmy pushed the man aside and hurried out the door. Maybe he could stall Dwight long enough so that he’d still be there when the cops arrived. How long could it take them?
But when he opened the door to Carla’s apartment, there was no sign of Dwight or Avery. “Shit,” Jimmy muttered to himself, hurrying to look in the kitchen and the bedroom. They were gone.
He went back into the hall and headed toward the fire exit stairs. He’d wait for the police in the lobby. If he could get them out of the building fast enough, maybe they could catch Dwight before he got far. He had opened the door and started out onto the landing when he heard a movement from behind the fire door. He closed his eyes in a silent wince when he felt a hand squeeze into his shoulder and fling him back so that another hand, flaked with dry skin, could cover his mouth.
The hand that gripped his shoulder let go for an instant. Before Jimmy had time to do anything, he felt cold steel pressed against his temple.
A gun. He should have known the guy would have one. What now? How could Jimmy fight with a bullet?
All the sound in the world stopped as Jimmy heard a click.
“Someone who doesn’t care as much as I do would kill you right now,” Dwight said. “But that wouldn’t be fair. Wouldn’t give you a chance to repent.”
Jimmy clenched his muscles to quell the trembling.
He looked out of the corner of his eye to see Dwight’s shoulder and his forearm. Avery stood next to him, his eyes big, biting his nails.
“We’re going home now, Jimmy.”
Jimmy closed his eyes, praying for the arrival of the police.
“I suppose you managed to call the cops.” The man sighed. “But if we even see them, we’re going to pretend we know nothing about them.”
Jimmy didn’t care about the gun. When he saw the cops, he would scream, do whatever it took to alert them.