by Shawn Mackey
“Help,” she screeched. It yanked her ankle and sent her sprawling out. Beatrice grabbed hold of her wrists and pulled.
“Don’t just stand there!” she screamed at me. I grabbed hold of Jenny’s waist. It was like playing tug of war with a colossus.
“It’s no use,” I said.
“Shut up!” Beatrice yelled through grit teeth.
“Oh, shit!” Kenny said. “Look!”
Behind us, a massive head loomed over the rooftop. Two bulging eyes blinked, followed by thousands of tiny eyes. A mouthful of fangs opened and shot out a tongue, headed straight for Kenny. I let go of Jenny and tackled him out of the way as it slapped the rooftop hard enough to crack the cement. The tongue rolled around and snatched Beatrice by the ankles, effortlessly tossing her into the air. The flinging was enough to break Jenny free from the tentacles grip. Both girls were slammed onto the rooftop. The tongue lolled around again before sliding back toward them.
The creature wrapped around Beatrice’s waist and hoisted her. I grabbed under her arms in mid-air, barely able to slow the tremendous pull. My heels slid across the cement. I bent my knees and back in a lame attempt to curb the inevitable, and I hooked my feet onto the rooftop’s edge, putting it to a brief halt, but within moments, I felt my ankle crack and the cement loosen.
“Am I going to die?” Beatrice asked.
“No! Don’t let go.”
“If this really is a dream, maybe I’ll wake up. Don’t you think?”
“Don’t do this to me, Beatrice. We’re partners now. You can’t give up already. We’re supposed to be together forever.”
“Forever? You really are dreaming, Michael. I’ll find you on the other side,” she said, leaning her neck forward as though to kiss me on the cheek. I wanted to kiss her too.
She belted me in the face, loosening my grip just enough to break free. The monster’s tongue darted back into its gaping maw with Beatrice attached. Its eyes closed and it started to shrink. Kenny rushed over.
“Is it over?” he asked gleefully.
I seized him roughly by the back of his shirt and neck and then tossed him over the edge. It was over before he hit the ground.
Chapter 15
Michael
I found myself in the frozen food aisle of a supermarket. The cool air coming from the ice cream section gave me a brief moment of refreshment. A portly woman opened the compartment next to me and took out a carton of mint chocolate chip, acknowledged me with a slight smile, put the carton into her cluttered carriage, and pushed it along.
“Beatrice?” I asked. She kept on walking, looking over her shoulder for a second. I repeated a bit louder: “Beatrice? Is that you?”
The woman turned down the next aisle without batting an eye. I tried not to get too disappointed on my first try. A young girl worked the cash register at the tobacco section near the end of the aisle. I reached over the counter and took a pack of cigarettes. Her jaw dropped as I opened it up and placed one in my mouth.
“Beatrice?” I asked, grabbing a book of matches and striking one.
“You’re not allowed to do that, sir. Please put that out,” she said. I lit the cigarette and inhaled a long drag.
“I’d like to speak with your manager.”
“He’s going to fire me if you stand there like that. Put it out!”
“Okay,” I said, taking one last pull before stomping the cigarette under my heel.
“Mister Pierce,” she said into a microphone. “Mister Pierce to aisle twelve.”
A balding fat man stormed out of the door marked OFFICE near the checkout line. He waddled up to the girl and me, red faced and mean looking, and darted his head back and forth, obnoxiously flaring his nostrils. His eyes glued to the cigarette butt at me feet. He picked it up with a growl.
“How many times do I need to tell you?” he scolded the girl.
“It was me,” I said.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“It was me. I didn’t see the No Smoking sign. It won’t happen again,” I said. His eyes narrowed and turned to the girl.
“Is that all?” he said.
“My kid’s missing. Her name’s Beatrice. She was insisting on going to the toy aisle. This was about two minutes ago. She’s probably looking for it right now, but I’d appreciate if you could call her name in the loudspeaker.”
“I can take care of it,” the girl asked. She looked at her boss, who gave a nod before walking away. “How old is she?”
“Eight.”
“Last name?”
“Smith.”
“Beatrice. Beatrice Smith. Please come to aisle twelve. Your father is looking for you.”
I waited there for quite a while. The cashier continued about her business, even when I lit up another cigarette. A brunette walked right by, scrunching her face in disgust as a trail of smoke passed under her nostrils. When her eyes met mine, they went wide for a split second. She took a few more steps before backtracking.
“That you, Daddy?” she asked.
“Beatrice?”
“What did I tell you, Michael?”
I tossed aside the cigarette and smothered her cheeks in kisses. She gently pushed me away and wiped her hand across her face.
“I thought I was a goner, too. When I landed in that thing’s belly, everything went dark. Darker than the belly, I mean.”
“You’re okay now?”
“Better. It’s hard to explain, but I feel more refreshed. I’m not afraid anymore.”
“We’re together again,” I said, extending my hand. She took it. “Partners.”
“Partners,” she said, shaking it. “So what do we do now?”
“Down there,” I said, pointing across the aisles. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”
All of it felt arbitrary after this fortunate turn of events. With Beatrice back, why continue the charade? The elation was fleeting, I reminded myself, and things could go sour at any moment. Duty came first, Beatrice came second. I could pretend to put myself in third, but that would only impede on the first. This had gone on for far too long to stand idly and enjoy the company of my new friend. For all I knew, our partnership was still temporary.
A little girl sat cross-legged in the middle of the children’s aisle. She held a yellow toy car in one hand and a small doll in the other. She placed the doll on top of the car and pulled them back until it made a click, then released, launching the car across the aisle. The doll immediately fell off while the car smashed into my foot. I picked it up and knelt by the girl, who had gone back to playing with the doll. She ran a plastic comb through its long brown hair, heedless to me and her lost car.
“Having fun?” I asked.
“Mommy told me not to talk to strangers,” she said. I put the toy back onto the shelf. An army soldier action figure caught my eye.
“That’s right,” I said, opening the toy. I stuck the plastic rifle in its hands and fiddled around with its limbs. “But Mommy is looking for you. What’s your name?”
“Rebecca.”
“Do you know where Mommy is?”
“There,” she said, pointing to Beatrice.
“Okay,” I said, dropping the army man and standing. To Beatrice, I whispered: “Do something.”
“What?”
“Follow your instinct.”
“The hell does that even mean? She’s playing with a toy. Leave her alone.”
“Come on,” I said, taking her by the arm and moving toward the end of the aisle. With my eye still on the kid, I asked Beatrice: “Tell me everything that happened up until we met up a few minutes ago.”
“I was over by the cereal,” she said, jutting her thumb to the right. “I didn’t see her. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing. I don’t like that look either.”
“Me or the kid?”
“You.”
“Look at her. She’s no better. You’re her mother. Start acting like one.”
“Okay,” Beatrice said, sighing. “Sorry for snapping at you. I’m nervous.”
“Babble if you’ve got to. Just be there. Go.”
Beatrice walked back over to Rebecca. She threw my army man back onto the shelf and took the same doll as the girl’s, running the same comb through its hair. I could certainly see a family resemblance in the face, both green-eyed and slightly freckled. Beatrice’s face seemed a bit age-worn compared to Rebecca’s youthful features, which seemed clouded by an invisible layer of gloom. Her gaze didn’t leave the doll, as though to look up would reveal something frightening.
“So,” Beatrice said, clearing her throat. “How are you feeling, Rebecca?”
“Good.”
“Then why are you frowning? Can’t you smile for Mommy? It’ll make her feel better,” Beatrice said. After a few seconds of silence, she poked the girl. Rebecca flashed a sincere smile for a split second, then frowned.
“I won’t smile anymore,” Rebecca said indignantly. “Not until you tell me where Daddy went.”
“Oh,” Beatrice said, looking up at me. She gritted her teeth and then sweetly said: “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s complicated. A girl your age wouldn’t understand. We still love you. We always will.”
“Then why doesn’t Daddy come home anymore?”
“Just because you haven’t seen him in a while doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“I was mad. I didn’t mean it. You’re my life, Rebecca. You’re his, too. He and I needed to go separate ways. That doesn’t mean you do. He’ll always be part of you. Always.”
“Why are you being so nice?” she sniffled before breaking into all-out sobbing. Beatrice held her close and glanced at me. I merely shrugged.
“Rebecca, if you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”
“An ice cream sundae with sprinkles and buttercups.”
“Something you can’t eat.”
“My own bed.”
“What’s wrong with your bed now?”
“It smells like pee because Jamie always wets the bed.”
“Mommy will buy you a whole new bed. Queen-sized,” she said, stroking for the girl’s cheek. “For my little princess.”
“What about Jamie?”
“You’ll both have your own beds. I promise.”
“Why are you being so nice?”
“I’m your mother. I’m supposed to be nice. Didn’t I tell you? You’re my favorite girl in the world.”
“But you said I’m a spoiled brat.”
“Mommy was just projecting. Don’t take me too seriously when I’m yelling. I mean well. You weren’t supposed to cry. It’s my fault.”
“Okay.”
Their conversation reached a halt. Rebecca continued to comb the doll’s hair, as did Beatrice, now as listlessly as her supposed daughter. I would have loved to get into her head. Was she flustered or concocting more lies? To see this from the audience’s standpoint was refreshing. I didn’t try to predict Beatrice’s next move. I just watched.
“Our dolls are twins,” she said. “Mine is named Sally. Yours?”
“Samantha.”
“Why did you choose that name?”
“I don’t know. Why did you choose Sally?”
“It was one of my old dolls. Not quite as pretty as this one. Downright ragged, to be honest. It belonged to my aunt, so it was a smelly hand-me-down. I grew attached to it, though. Even the smell. Musty, like my grandparents’ house.”
“Grandma Blanche?”
“Yes,” Beatrice said. She stopped combing the doll’s hair and spaced out. “It reminded me of Grandma Blanche. I sometimes stayed there on weekends when I was your age. She had this wonderful garden. My brother and I used to play there.”
“Uncle Bob or Uncle Rudy?”
“I can’t remember,” she said. “No, it was someone else.”
“Who?”
“Can you keep a secret?” Beatrice whispered. Rebecca nodded with a wide toothless smile. “It was my friend. Don’t tell anyone because Grandma and Grandpa didn’t know about him. Neither did Uncle Bob or Uncle Rudy. This was my special friend. His name was Michael.”
“Was he your boyfriend?” Rebecca whispered with a little cackle.
“No. Well, he was a boy and a friend. I might have had a crush on him. We didn’t kiss or hold hands or any gross stuff like that. We didn’t need to talk either. He stood there while I smelled all the pretty flowers.”
“That sounds boring.”
“Boring, but not lonely. I felt safer with him around. The bees used to scare me, so he scared them. I was allergic.”
“How did he scare them?”
“Like this,” Beatrice said and stood. She crossed her arms and made a grave-looking expression. Rebecca let out a chuckle. Beatrice sat back down and said: “It looked a lot scarier when he did it.”
“What happened to him?”
“I got caught in the garden by Grandma Blanche. She was real mad. I told her Michael was watching me, but she wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t safe to go outside by myself. From then on, it was just me and Sally, but that wasn’t the same. I used to look at the garden from my mother’s old bedroom window. Michael was gone.”
“He wasn’t real.”
“No.”
“I like to pretend Samantha is real. She likes it when I brush her hair. It makes her look like a lady.”
“Would you like me to brush your hair? I can make you look like a lady, too.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Beatrice said, taking Rebecca by the hand and standing again. I followed them down a few aisles to the cosmetic section. Rebecca marveled at the mannequin head with a glued-on wig while Beatrice put aside a bunch of beauty supplies. “Sit down, sweetheart.”
Beatrice rolled the brush down Rebecca’s curly hair while the girl continued to fumble around with the mannequin’s head. She found a small brush from the nearby shelf and went to work on the wig. They did this for quite a while. A few shoppers swerved their carriages away from the girls, barely paying any heed to the obstruction.
“How do you know brushing Samantha’s hair makes her happy?” Beatrice asked.
“She smiles.”
“Ah, that’s nice. Does she like to chat?”
“No.”
“Good friends can enjoy a peace and quiet together, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me about your friends. Do they have dolls, too?”
“Not anymore. They say it’s stupid.”
“Too bad. I’m glad you don’t let them change your mind.”
“When am I going to be a lady?”
“Hold on,” Beatrice said, opening the lipstick. “Stay still.”
“I thought—”
“Shhh,” Beatrice carefully covered the girl’s lips with the pink crayon. When she finished, she put the hand mirror in front of her face.
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to wear lipstick.”
“You aren’t,” Beatrice said, opening a container of blush. “But today’s an exception. Stay still.”
“It smells funny,” Rebecca said. She closed her eyes as Beatrice blotted her cheeks.
“So far, so good. For the next part, I need you to really stay still. Don’t even sneeze. Got it?”
“Okay.”
Beatrice uncapped the eyeliner pencil and gently applied it to Rebecca’s lashes. She may have been going overboard, but the girl wasn’t complaining. Things were going well so far, so I had no objections.
“Done,” Beatrice said, placing the mirror in front of Rebecca’s face. “Like it?”
“No,” she said, licking her lips.
“Don’t do that, sweetheart. It’s not good for you.”
“It tastes bad,” she whined. Beatrice wiped every trace of lipstick away with her woolen sweater.
“We can focus on your hair. It’s all you need. Makeup’s
for tramps anyway.”
“What’s a tramp?”
“A bad girl. Not a lady, like you and me.”
“How are they bad?”
“They do naughty things.”
“Like what?”
“They don’t brush their teeth before bed or wash behind their ears every morning.”
“I don’t wash behind my ears.”
“That’s okay. Do you brush your teeth?”
“Yeah.”
“Good girl.”
Beatrice fixed Rebecca’s long hair into a pair of pigtails. When the girl made a sour face, she tried a braid, only to receive the same reaction.
“Make it like yours,” Rebecca said.
“So we can be like sisters?” Beatrice gleefully nodded. “Not many girls want to look like their mothers.”
“But you’re pretty.”
“Not as pretty as you.”
“But I’m not a lady.”
“Someday.”
“Tell me more about when you were a kid. Did Grandma Blanche brush your hair, too?”
“No, my mommy used to do it.”
“You never tell me about your mommy. Was she a pretty lady?”
“Yes. The prettiest lady I’ve ever seen.”
“Is she in heaven with your daddy and Grandpa?”
“Of course.”
“Is she watching us?”
“Always.”
“When I put gum in Jamie’s hair, Grandma Blanche told me that Grandpa can see all the bad things I do. Is that true? Or is it like Michael and Sally?”
“It’s true.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” Beatrice said, locking pinkies with Rebecca.
“How do you know?”
“You see that man over there?” she said, pointing to me.
“Why is he watching us?”
“That’s Michael.”
“But you said Michael wasn’t real.”
“He wasn’t real until I found him.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Look at him. Could you imagine Michael looking like anyone else?”
“He does look kind of scary.”
“And that’s why I need him. When you grow up, there’s much more than bees to worry about. Even if you’re deathly allergic to them.”