Rage's Echo

by J. S. Bailey

  Jessica waited. She could let him take his time.

  “Well,” he said, distressed at the memory, “I guess you could say they disemboweled me.”

  “Disemboweled?” Even though she hadn’t yet eaten breakfast, her stomach protested at the sound of the word.

  “Sorry, I thought it sounded better than gutted.”

  That much was true.

  “When it finally happened,” he continued slowly, “it was…relief. All the physical pain was gone, and suddenly I was looking at myself from above. I was like a sad, discarded thing bleeding out in the chair.”

  For a split second, she had the urge to give him a consoling hug. Then she remembered what he did to Wayne.

  “When it happened,” she said, “you didn’t see a tunnel of light?”

  “No.”

  “But that’s what we’re supposed to see.”

  “Maybe for some, but for me it happened just the way I said.” He paused. “I know what you’re thinking, and I hope it won’t make you doubt your belief in a holier afterlife. Just because I saw nothing of the sort doesn’t mean that others haven’t.”

  A car door slammed outside. Sidney was back.

  “You never doubted your faith because of that?”

  Footsteps came up the walk.

  He shook his head. “Not even once.”

  He disappeared.

  Jessica pulled the door open for Sidney as soon as her friend set foot on the porch. Sidney threw her an annoyed glance and walked past her into the kitchen.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Sidney asked. “You look like you’ve seen a…never mind.”

  Jessica coughed a few times. “So, what did you say to Wayne? About the braces, that is.”

  Sidney poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat down at the table. “I told him exactly what happened.”

  “And?”

  “He said that something here must not like him very much.” She sighed. “I can’t believe he’s bought into this.”

  “Well, maybe he’s right.” Jessica’s stomach growled. “Did you have any plans for today?” she asked, grabbing the box of waffles out of the freezer. She stuffed two of them into the toaster and found some margarine in the door of the fridge.

  Sidney swirled the juice around in her glass. “Not in particular. I was going to finish up my English homework, maybe get a head start on next week’s assignments. Why?”

  “I thought you might want to go do something. Like we used to.”

  “Like what? You couldn’t pay me to go on another ghost hunt.”

  “I don’t mean that. I’m talking something fun. Something you think is fun.”

  Sidney’s brows knit together as if she had forgotten what the word fun meant. She remained silent.

  “By the way, where’s the syrup?”

  “Cabinet above the microwave. You can’t miss it.”

  Jessica retrieved the bottle and set it on the table. “You want some waffles, too?”

  “Nah, I’ve got some NutriGrain bars.”

  Jessica had spotted them on the same shelf as the syrup, so she brought Sidney the box and set it down beside her.

  Sidney made no move to take it.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “This is going to sound awful, but I can’t remember the stuff we did together.”

  The waffles popped up. Jessica set them on a plate and carried them to the table, where she slathered them with the margarine and syrup. “You can’t remember those stupid skits we did in drama club?”

  Sidney pulled a NutriGrain bar out of the box and peeled back the wrapper. “I remember those.”

  “Good, because if you didn’t, I’d have to take you to the doctor to get your head examined.”

  “You’re one to talk.” She bit off the end of the bar and chewed.

  “I think one of my favorite skits was the one where Toby Mitchell played the robber who broke into a house where there was a slumber party, and we all beat him up with pillows and bottles of nail polish,” Jessica said.

  “Yeah, and I accidentally smashed the one bottle on his head, and purple nail polish went everywhere.” She smiled. “But that was all stuff in school.”

  “We had real sleepovers, too.”

  “Uh huh. We did Mad-Libs and laughed so much we almost puked. I think I saved some of them. I’ll have to dig around later and see if they’re still in my desk.”

  Evidently, Sidney could remember more than she admitted. “And remember how we’d get out our old Barbie dolls and dress them up in Ken’s clothes?”

  Sidney nodded. “I guess we did used to have fun. Probably wouldn’t be much fun anymore, though. I don’t even know what happened to my dolls.”

  “Who cares about dolls? We should just hang out.”

  “Looks like we already are.”

  “True.”

  “Not to change the subject,” Jessica said, “but can we please talk about my so-called insanity?”

  “Do we have to?”

  “I want to know why you don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “That’s like asking me why I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

  “Ghosts won’t bring you coal if you’ve been naughty.”

  Sidney made an exaggerated eye roll. “Can’t you see where I’m coming from? If there really are ghosts, why hasn’t anyone come up with solid proof of their existence? The answer is because they’re not real.”

  “But souls…”

  “That’s another thing! There’s no proof anyone’s got one. I don’t see how this”—she jabbed Jessica in the arm with her finger—“can have some immortal essence that we can’t see.”

  The source of Sidney’s depression was becoming clearer. “So now you’re telling me that you don’t believe in God, either?”

  To her surprise, tears welled up in Sidney’s eyes. “How can I? When Mom first got diagnosed, I prayed practically every waking moment. I said the rosary. I posted bulletins on MySpace asking my friends to pray with me. You’ve got to remember that. I prayed my little heart out. And guess what! She died anyway.” She took off her glasses and rubbed the tears from her eyes.

  Jessica’s own eyes grew misty. Talking about Marjorie’s death even after this length of time was like peeling off an unhealed scab and letting it bleed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Now do you understand where I’m coming from?”

  “Yeah, but people are supposed to die. It’s going to happen to everyone sooner or later.”

  “She was only forty years old!” Sidney’s face was red. “She could have lived another forty. Or fifty.” She fell silent again as she finished her NutriGrain bar. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve been mean to you. You just don’t know what it’s been like. Mom was closer to me than anyone else. I told her things I’d never tell you guys. She was my confidante. When she died, it felt like my soul went with her. So maybe you’re right saying that people have souls, ’cause it sure feels like I’m just an empty shell.”

  Jessica felt an unwanted pang of jealousy at the mention of the bond that Sidney and Marjorie had shared. “This probably sounds awful, but I’d give anything to have a loving, dead mother than the one I’ve got.”

  Sidney’s jaw dropped. “At least you still have the chance to get to know your mother and make up for all the years you’ve despised each other!”

  “Who said she despises me? She’d just be happier if I’d never been born.”

  “Did she ever say that?”

  “No. But she barely even looked at me unless she was complaining about something.”

  If Sidney had had the ability to set people on fire with her gaze, Jessica was sure that she would have gone up in flames. “Grow up, Jessica. It’s not like she beat you. Think of the kids who have to live with that.”

  Jessica’s pulse quickened. The newspaper clipping! Did Sidney know about it? She had to. She had lived with Wayne for years. Then again, the boy in the article wasn’t necessarily Wayne at all. He may hav
e saved the clipping just because it interested him.

  Jessica’s cell phone began to ring, breaking the awkward silence that had hung in the room for the past several seconds. Thank you, God. She nearly dove out of her chair reaching for her purse. She held the phone to her ear.

  “Hey, Rachel!” she said, her mood making a marginal improve-ment. “Where are you?”

  “We’re standing at the baggage claim,” Rachel said. “We’ll be heading over to Uncle Esteban’s if and when our suitcase appears, but we were wondering if you’d want to come to lunch with us before we head out there.”

  That was the best thing she’d heard all morning. “That would be great! Where did you want to go?”

  “I thought we could all go to Tim’s Taco Barn if it’s still open. Sound good to you?”

  Tim’s Taco Barn was one of Eleanor’s few surviving restaurants. Jessica had applied for a job there after Travis Suleman laid her off, but they never called her in for an interview. “You bet! What time?”

  “Be there at a quarter to twelve. If we’re not there yet, get us a table. Hang on a second—Eric, our bag has the blue stripe along the edge. No, not that one!” She groaned. “Sorry, I’ve got to go before we end up stealing someone else’s suitcase. See you in a bit!”

  She laughed. Eric was probably just messing with her. “Bye, sis.” She ended the call and looked at Sidney.

  “What was that about?”

  “Lunch with Rachel and Eric,” she said. “Now you’ll have time to get your homework done. If Jerry bothers you, give him a time-out.”

  Sidney rolled her eyes for what was possibly the hundredth time. Big surprise.

  Sidney went up to her bedroom to retrieve her English textbook and CD player as soon as Jessica left to go meet her sister for their lunchtime rendezvous.

  Jessica could be so aggravating sometimes. Everything always had to be about her and her problems. Could Sidney be upset about her mother dying? No, because Jessica’s mother was a jerk, and having a dead mom is better than having a jerk mom. Perfect logic.

  She plugged in her CD player next to the couch in the same place where Wayne’s ankle-foot orthotics had made their miraculous reappearing act. Miraculous. Yeah, right. That was about as miraculous as pulling a rabbit out of a top hat.

  She popped in her Chopin CD and turned the player on. Forget about Jessica. She’d fess up to the deed sooner or later.

  In the kitchen she fixed herself a plate of nachos. Homework food, she liked to call it. She carried the plate out to the couch and started reading a passage while she ate.

  After several minutes it became clear that she would not be able to concentrate, because all she could think about was Jessica and her outrageous ghost story. The realization that Jessica’s claims were getting to her that much made her blood boil. What was her problem? None of it was real. She should just disregard the whole thing like she would with tales of alien abductions and Bigfoot sightings.

  Thing was, Jessica didn’t seem like she was crazy. But true crazies might not give any outward sign of their craziness, so how in the world was she supposed to know whether or not Jessica had really gone off the deep end with this whole ghost thing? And heck, Sidney herself had sort of believed in ghosts before, right? Just not the walking, talking kind. She was almost surprised Jessica hadn’t said that Jerry wore a sheet.

  She set her book aside, deciding she needed to smoke. Badly.

  Her purse lay on the kitchen counter. She unzipped it and pulled out the pack of Camel Menthols and her lighter. She would take a quick smoke break on the deck and come back inside when she felt better.

  As she started toward the mudroom behind the kitchen, the half-empty pack of cigarettes flew out of her hand and landed on the floor six feet away.

  She stared at it for a long moment before picking it up. Had she been so jittery from arguing with Jessica that she had unintentionally flung it? Weird. Maybe a single smoke wouldn’t be enough.

  Suddenly something cold raised hairs on her neck. She slapped her skin, thinking that some kind of bug had crawled onto her, but nothing was there.

  Your mother died of cancer, and you would willingly increase your own risk of getting it by smoking? a voice said in the back of her mind.

  Nice try, conscience. Smoking a few cigarettes a day might eventually lead her to develop lung cancer, which, as far as she knew, could be cured far easier than brain cancer.

  A strong breeze whipped her hair around when she stepped out onto the deck. Some of the trees were already bare of leaves. The thunderstorm from the other night had helped with that. Now that the area had finally received rain, she no longer had to worry about accidentally torching the yard with a smoldering cigarette butt.

  She slid one cigarette from the box, lit it, and plopped down at the patio table. She wondered if Jessica was having fun hanging out with her sister. Rachel had always seemed like a nice girl. Unlike Sidney and Jessica, Rachel had never taken a big interest in acting and instead devoted her teenage and college years to the study of calculus, statistics, accounting, and finance—subjects that Sidney wouldn’t study even if she were paid to do so. Though since her current plans were to become a doctor, there would probably be a million other horrible classes she’d be required to take.

  Her mind continued to wander as she stared at the surrounding houses and yards. Some children in the yard directly behind theirs were playing on a swing set, and they squealed with laughter each time their mother gave them a push to make them swing higher. The drone of a lawnmower several houses down, combined with the balmy warmth of the day, made her eyelids grow heavy. She could rest for a little while. No need to get all of her homework finished today when it wasn’t due until next week…

  Suddenly her head shot up. The cigarette had gone out and slipped through her fingers and now lay several feet to the right of her chair, as if it tried to roll away from her when it hit the deck.

  The children in the other yard were still swinging. The lawnmower that had lulled her into semi-consciousness still hummed as its owner made circuits around his yard. The wind blew as strong as ever.

  So why did it seem as if something was wrong?

  Sidney stood and turned in a complete circle to try to pinpoint the source of her unease. She half-expected to see a person peering around the corner of the house at her, but nobody was there.

  Maybe someone in another yard was watching her, and she had somehow picked up on their gaze. However, the yards to the immediate left and right of the property were vacant of anyone she could see. The mother and children weren’t looking at her, either, because they were facing the other way.

  This was ridiculous. Jessica’s delusions must have been getting to her head. Why else would she feel like the gaze of two invisible eyeballs was piercing the back of her skull?

  No matter how hard she tried to quash the feeling with logic and common sense—there are no such things as invisible eyeballs! she told herself—it became so unnerving that she had no other choice but to go back inside.

  An unnatural quietness filled the house, which was odd since she hadn’t turned off her CD player before going outside, and she hadn’t been out there long enough for the Chopin CD to play in its entirety.

  Her feet rooted themselves to the mudroom floor. What if someone had snuck into the house? They could have been staring at her through the window when she was on the deck, hence her sudden paranoia.

  She grabbed a Swiffer mop that had been propped against the wall and held the handle in front of her like a spear. She stepped into the kitchen.

  “Hello?”

  Nobody was there.

  She tiptoed to the right into the entryway and ascended the stairs then proceeded into the bedrooms and Wayne’s bathroom. Not a soul in sight.

  She relaxed and went to the living room to see what had happened to the music.

  The screen had gone dark on the CD player. She pushed the power button to see if the player had somehow learned to turn
itself off, but nothing happened.

  “Huh.” Maybe something was wrong with the electric outlet.

  She carried the CD player to the other side of the room and plugged it into the outlet next to the television. She hit the power button again. The CD player came on.

  This was too weird.

  As she pondered all the possible reasons for a single outlet to lose power, a book sitting on the couch caught her eye.

  The feeling of dread returned full-force. The only book she had left on the couch was her English book; only now it had been joined by another. One she had not read in a very long time.

  She picked it up with one shaking hand. It was the Bible her mother gave her for her First Communion, and it lay open to the page where Moses received the commandments from God.

  Someone had used her highlighter to circle two verses: I am the Lord thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

  Was this some kind of joke? She’d have said yes if she hadn’t been the only one home.

  There had to be an explanation for this. Everything had an explanation. Problem was, she couldn’t think of one.

  For the first time, she wondered if Jessica’s delusions weren’t delusions at all.

  She shook her head. That was no way to be thinking. She would solve this mystery, one way or another.

  She closed the Bible and returned it to its proper place in the bookshelf. Time to get back to work.

  She finished the last few nachos and resumed reading the passage for her next assignment. She was to compare two poems—“Annabel Lee,” another Poe work; and “Thanatopsis” by William Cullen Bryant. The subject of both was death. Some comparison. She hadn’t a clue as to how she could write an entire paper about them. Well, you see, the narrator of Poe’s work lost his true love in death, and Bryant’s work says we’re all going to die anyway, so Poe’s narrator should just put on a happy face ’cause he’ll be joining his lady love in no time.