If you get too close to the inmates, his father sometimes said, you’ll become one yourself.
Lord have mercy, those words rang true more times than not. He felt close to the breaking point some days. And whose fault would that be? Why, it would be his own damn fault. No doubt about it.
Too close to the inmates, Quill thought. Dear God, I’m too close to the inmates.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind and said, “Miss Paige, can you tell us about today?”
“Today?”
“Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”
Stephenie leaned back in her chair. Her eyes returned to the table. Then she began to reconstruct her day…
CHAPTER TWO:
Drive
1
Carrie Paige’s favorite duffle bag in the whole wide world had a picture of Kermit the Frog on both sides. The bag was black and cute and it said IT’S NOT EASY BEING GREEN on the strap and Carrie thought it was the greatest thing she had ever seen. She brought her bag into the backyard with her when she was playing with her dolls, and she was planning on showing it off on her first day of school, which was eleven days away. She was excited. Big kids go to school, her mother often told her. Big kids go to school and little kids stay home. Eleven more sleeps and it would be official; she would be a big kid. She was so excited she could hardly think.
Carrie reached into her Kermit bag and shuffled through her important possessions. This included a flower made of construction paper, playing cards, multicolored rocks, a bag of marbles, a handful of crayons and a plastic horse with a squished head.
The playing cards were always in her Kermit bag. If they were out of the bag she had them spread around so she could see every card at once. They were very special to her. She cherished each and every one of them and as a result the cards looked like hell.
Her favorite boy card was the one that said READY FREDDIE.
Ready Freddie looked so adorable sitting at the kitchen table with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other that sometimes she kissed the card. Freddie had yellow socks, a green bandana, and his tongue was sticking up from his pencil-line lips suggesting that he couldn’t wait another minute to eat.
Her favorite girl card was FANCY NANCY.
Fancy Nancy sat on a pink-and-white striped chair. She had a hat on her head and a mirror in her hand and a purse that looked like a teakettle. Carrie imagined Ready Freddie and Fancy Nancy getting married someday and having babies that looked just like them.
Other cards she loved included Jolly Jean, Corny Carl, Lady Luisa, Skinny Minnie, Jumping Jack, Scary Harry and Slim Jim. Then there was the OLD MAID. Nobody liked the Old Maid, and because nobody liked her, Carrie decided she liked the Old Maid just fine. It was only fair. Her mother always said if you can’t play fair, you shouldn’t play at all.
Carrie pulled a photo album from her bag and put the bag at her feet.
The album had a picture of three Care Bears on the cover: Love-A-Lot Bear, Tenderheart Bear, and Bedtime Bear. Care Bears were okay, but they weren’t half as good as Kermit and were nothing next to SpongeBob.
SpongeBob SquarePants and his best friend Patrick were amazing. If she were a resident of Bikini Bottom she would eat at The Krusty Krab every day, just to play Old Maid with the pair of them.
She opened the photo album, which held one picture per page. She flipped through the pages slowly; then she lifted her Coke can from the cup holder and sucked a mouthful through her straw like she was in a drinking race. After she put the can back in the holder she said, “I hafta go the bathroom.”
Stephenie was thirty years old and looked a whole lot like her daughter. Not so much now, but when she was Carrie’s age the resemblance was spooky. Back then she was cute. Today she was beautiful. She had subtle features, a slim nose, and lips that were neither thin nor full. On a day like today she fixed her hair and Carrie’s hair the same way: in adorable little pigtails. The twosome looked so delightful it made you want to barf.
Stephenie said, “What’s that? You need the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
Stephenie slid a hand along the steering wheel, looked at the gas gauge, and said, “Okay. I need to stop anyhow. I’m almost out of gas.” She stuck her tongue out and made a silly face and for a moment, Carrie thought her mother looked like Ready Freddie.
Carrie said, “Really?”
“Yep. The gas gauge is telling me it’s time for a fill up.”
“Are we going to run out of gas? Madeleine Nyssa said that her daddy ran out of gas when they were going to their grandpa’s house and they had to call a doctor to get some help.”
Stephenie pinched her smile and tried not to laugh. Sometimes it was impossible not to laugh. Carrie was constantly saying things in ways only a child would consider appropriate. “Madeleine Nyssa told you that, did she?”
“Uh-huh. Yes she did. She also said her mommy got mad at her daddy and they were kissing and then she got a bleeding nose.”
“Oh really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I don’t think we’re going to run out of gas there babe, so don’t get too worried about it.”
“Okay mommy. I won’t get too worried about it. I’ll try to keep my nose from getting all bleedy too.”
Stephenie smiled. “That sounds good. How bad do you need the washroom, really bad?”
Carrie grabbed her Coke and put the straw to her lips and enjoyed another drink. She put the can down and said, “Yes. I have to go really bad. It might come out in my pants a little.”
“Well don’t do that. If you need to pee I’ll stop the car and you can pee at the side of the road. Do you want me to pull over so you can go?”
“No. I can hold it inside my tummy ‘til we find a bathroom.”
Stephenie put pressure on the gas petal and the car moved a little faster. The highway was pretty much empty so she could drive as fast as she wanted. She didn’t need a speeding ticket though, so if worst came to worst she would pull over and Carrie could relieve herself at the side of the road whether she thought it was a good idea or not.
She said, “Do me a favor, babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop drinking the Coke. It only makes you need the bathroom more.”
Carrie eyed the can suspiciously. “Okay, I won’t have any more until after I go.” She grinned, showing the big hole where a tooth had once been.
“Great. Do you have to go number one or number two?”
“Number one.” She held up a single finger so her mother could see.
Stephenie nodded her head and Carrie smiled.
Carrie loved her mommy more than Kermit, the Care Bears, and SpongeBob together. And after watching Stephenie nod her head, she decided to nod her head too.
2
Ten minutes passed.
Stephenie turned on the radio and flipped through the stations. She found a song that wasn’t too annoying, might have been Radiohead. She turned it low and let it play. Resting an elbow on the open window she looked at the gas gauge again.
She was almost out of gas.
She didn’t tell Carrie this information, but she was worried about how much gas was in the tank and how far it would take them. Being stranded at the side of the road was quickly becoming more realistic and today wasn’t a great day for that type of adventure. It was hot outside. The late August sun wasn’t fighting its way through many clouds and the wind factor was nonexistent. Then again, it was nearly 7:30 pm. The heat was sure to ease soon.
Carrie flipped through the pages of her photo album.
Looking at a photo of her daddy, her face saddened. It had been five months since daddy had gone to heaven and she was finally beginning to accept the fact he wasn’t coming back. It wasn’t fair. Madeleine Nyssa’s daddy didn’t have to go to heaven. In fact, none of the kids she played with had daddies that had to go away forever.
She wanted her daddy to come home. Sometimes she asked God to send daddy home and she promised
to keep it a secret and not tell anybody. Sometimes she asked God if daddy could drop by for a visit because she missed him, and because she wanted to show him the tooth that fell from her mouth after she wiggled it with her tongue. God didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if she liked God. She knew she was supposed to love him and figured that loving him was okay, but she didn’t know if she liked him. God didn’t play fair. He never responded to her questions, he never dropped by to say hello, and he was keeping her daddy all to himself. Mommy said people that don’t like sharing are spoiled brats. Sometimes she thought God was a spoiled brat but she never said anything because she didn’t want to say any swears.
Stephenie looked at Carrie; her brow furrowed.
Carrie didn’t notice.
Stephenie said, “Do you miss him?”
Carrie turned the page. “Yes.”
“It’s okay to miss him you know. I miss him. I think about him every day.”
“So do I.”
“We’ll be okay babe. We’ll get through this. Every day things get a little easier so don’t worry. It’s okay to miss him but try not to worry.”
“Are you going to get us a new daddy?”
Stephenie took a moment to find the right combination of words. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. Right now I’m not looking for a new daddy but I don’t want to say there won’t ever be one. Do you want me to find a new daddy?”
“No. I want the old one to come back.”
“Carrie, you know––”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Daddy is on an elevator for heaven and he can’t come back to visit us ever, even if God says it’s alright. You don’t hafta tell me. I know he’s not coming home. God won’t let him.”
Stephenie didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t a new conversation; they had talked about Hal’s death a hundred times or more.
Hal had a terrible accident while he was at work and now he was dead and life goes on, even though it’s hard. And it was hard. The past five months had been hard for so many reasons. Hal’s death was the big reason, of course. But the fact that Stephenie had been in-and-out of therapy and prescribed a handful of drugs wasn’t helping anything. She was irritable and irregular and her nightmares had her waking up in tears. The doctors (all four of them) were telling Stephenie that when they found a suitable combination of drugs and dosages, sleep would be easier and her body would function more regularly. Until that time she had to be strong, pay close attention to her body and let them know what was happening.
Stephenie figured the trip would be good for both of them. Visiting mom and dad was something she didn’t do often enough. And besides, a six and a half hour drive wasn’t that far. It was doable. And it was time.
Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small portrait of Jesus Christ.
Stephenie’s mother had given it to her at Hal’s funeral. She hung the portrait around the mirror for no real reason, aside from the fact that her mother would notice it and appreciate it being there. Oddly enough, she liked it there too. She wasn’t a Catholic or a Christian, but she found comfort in the image. Jesus had eyes that were kind and sad and without a trace of anger. And if the stories were true he had a reason to be angry, beyond angry. If the stories were just stories, well then, she supposed there was something worth thinking about inside the message.
Stephenie looked at the gas gauge again.
Empty.
A cold sweat threatened to break out on her forehead.
Carrie said, “Are you okay mommy?”
Stephenie took her eyes off the road and looked at her daughter. “What’s that babe?”
“I said are you alright?”
Stephenie was emotionally charged, strung out on meds, and had a reoccurring nightmare where her husband fell eighteen stories and landed on a sign that said DANGER - MEN WORKING. Sometimes Hal screamed as he fell and sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he said things as he dropped. Things like, I told you I didn’t want to go to work today. I told you I wasn’t feeling well, right babe? Why did you push me into going to work today, Stephenie? Why didn’t you let me stay home? I knew I wasn’t feeling well and you said I was being a lazy baby. You said I was making excuses and now I’m dead. Is that what you wanted, Stephenie? Is that what you wanted, babe? Who’s going to take care of Carrie now, huh? Who’s going to bring home the bacon? Not you, Stephenie. You’re falling apart. You’re falling apart and I’m just falling. And when I hit the ground I won’t make a simple little splat on the sidewalk; oh no. I’ll come down on the fence and my body will be severed in half. It will be a closed casket funeral and while you’re standing above my remains it will occur to you that I could have been placed in two separate boxes. Whose fault do you think that is, huh babe? Do you have an answer for me? Huh? Do you or not? Do you know what I think? I think it’s your fault I was chopped in half at the waist Stephenie. I think it’s ALL YOUR FAULT.
“Mom?”
“Huh?”
“I said are you alright? You look pale, mom. You look like you’re sweating.”
Stephenie focused on the road, knowing she could have driven the car straight into a river without knowing it. She said, “I’m okay, babe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Carrie put her hand on the Coke can then pulled her hand away as if her fingers had been burned. She squeezed her legs together and snuck a hand in-between them.
She said, “Okay mom. Just checking.”
“I love you. Don’t worry about me. Things are going to be all right. You just watch.”
Up ahead was something; Stephenie wasn’t sure what the something was, but it looked promising. Less than twenty seconds later everything came into view. There was a gas station with a restaurant attached to it. Carrie could go to the bathroom and she’d be able to fill up the tank. Everything was going to work out just fine.
“Look, babe,” Stephenie said. “A place to go to the bathroom.”
Carrie looked honestly relieved. “That’s good,” she said. “I thought I might go pee-pee in my pants even though I said I wouldn’t.”
“Can you hold it another minute?”
“I think so.”
“Well try babe. Try.”
CHAPTER THREE:
King’s Diner
1
Stephenie pulled off the highway and onto the establishment’s asphalted driveway. A large neon sign said KING’S DINER. It looked seventy years old or more. She pulled her car next to a pair of gas pumps that looked as old as the sign, if not older. Above each pump there was a weather-faded notice that read: WE SERVE.
Little Carrie opened her door with a grunt, jumped out of the car and tossed her photo-album on the seat. The pavement felt hard beneath her feet. The book bounced and fell open on a random page. The page had a photo of Carrie sitting on a swing with Stephenie standing behind her.
“Wait a minute babe,” Stephenie said, reaching for her ignition keys. She thought she heard the words, Okay, mom. But then she watched Carrie shaking her head in total disagreement.
“I can’t,” Carrie shouted. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom super-duper or I’m going to make an uh-oh in my pants!”
Carrie hustled towards the restaurant like she was in a hurry, leaving the car door wide open. She squeezed her knees together and struggled with the restaurant door, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds or more. She pulled on the handle with all her might; in the end she managed to wiggle herself inside. Just.
Stephenie turned the car off, unlatched her seatbelt and felt it slide across her waist. She unlocked her door, swung the door open and stepped outside, leaving her keys dangling in the ignition. The sun had begun to set but the temperature was still hot. It was muggy out; the air felt thicker than on most days.
Her eyes scanned the parking lot for an attendant. Didn’t see one.
Across the road a single bungalow sat before the backdrop of undeveloped land like it had been misp
laced. It had dark windows and was made of brick. It had a long driveway on the right hand side. There was no garage, few trees. Thick green grass was growing long. There was no sidewalk in front of the building, no curb either. The grass just shrank away, diminishing into rocks, pebbles and sand, until it came to the clearly defined edge of the highway, which was old but in good condition, faded but not overly weathered.
She dismissed the house and all the details that defined it. She walked towards the gas pump and looked over each shoulder, once again trying to locate the man in charge. She didn’t see him. There was a greased-out gas-shack attached to the restaurant. Maybe he was there? Or perhaps he was picking his ass inside the restaurant, ordering coffee and making time with the waitress. That seemed about right. For a moment she wondered if the attendant might actually be a woman, but for reasons unknown the idea didn’t seemed to fit. So, assuming the attendant was a man, where the hell was he?
The attendant’s hiding place was unknown, a lackluster mystery.
Didn’t really matter, she supposed. She knew how to pump gas and if the attendant didn’t like it he could suck on a lemon and piss up a rope.
After she unscrewed her car’s gas cap, she lifted the nozzle and switched the pump on by lifting an ancient looking metal lever. She stuck the nozzle into her tank and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. She opened her fingers, waited a moment, and squeezed the trigger again. Still nothing.
“Huh,” she said, with an eyebrow lifted and her tongue peeking out between her teeth.
Into Hell Page 2