Strange Robby

by Selina Rosen

  She was driving in spite of Tommy's protests, as she had been all week. This way she could keep an eye on the So-what-if guys. She looked in her rear view mirror, and there they were. She could lose them in traffic any time she wanted, but she didn't want to just now. Right behind them she could see Jacob's car. She was pretty sure that the So-what-if guys knew they were being followed, and that they knew that she knew that they were following her. They just didn't give a damn. That worried her.

  It was, without a doubt, the most futile waste of the taxpayers' money that she'd seen in years, and she told Tommy so.

  "I don't think it's so fucking funny," Tommy said. He looked nervous. "Those spooks give me the creeps. Why don't you just shake them?"

  "Because they give me the creeps, too, and I don't want to give them any reason to shoot my ass," Spider said.

  Tommy nodded; he supposed that made sense. He decided to change the subject. "So, Laura tells me your in-laws are coming in for the weekend."

  Spider mumbled something incoherent and Tommy laughed.

  "It won't be that bad."

  "I really don't think I'm ready for this." Spider took a deep breath. "I can't believe she sprung this on me. Maybe I'll get shot."

  "What are you so worried about? They know that Carrie's queer, so when she invited them to come and meet you I'm pretty sure they weren't expecting you to have a dick . . . "

  "And did you know that you can't rent one for the occasion?" Spider asked, facetiously.

  Tommy laughed and punched her in her upper arm. "You know what I mean. It won't be a shock. You're a good catch . . . I guess."

  "Are you kidding? These are rich people, Tommy. I'm living in their daughter's house. It's going to look like I'm living off her. Which, guess what, I am! It's going to be the most uncomfortable weekend of my life."

  Tommy laughed. "Worse than a pit in a prisoner of war camp."

  "Hey! At least there I didn't have to worry about impressing anyone," Spider answered.

  "You don't have to worry about impressing anyone now, Spider. You're a good person. Anyone should be proud to know you. Few people have done the kind of things that you have done. Personally, I have never known anyone I was more impressed with. You are courageous, loyal, and you always have minty-fresh breath."

  Spider was more than a little taken aback, and embarrassed. "Well, thanks, Tommy. I feel the same way about you, except for the breath part."

  "If you can make it through the weekend without farting and yelling Thar she blows! the way you always do, you ought to be OK."

  Henry had been breathing funny again, and while trying to get him sorted out she had forgotten what tonight was. It wasn't until she pulled into the driveway and saw the strange car that she realized what she had just done.

  "Holy fuck!" She looked at her watch. It was six thirty, and Carrie said dinner would be ready at seven o'clock. But she had expected Spider to be home at five thirty to help. She got out of the car and looked down at her clothes, on top of everything else she was filthy.

  She rushed in the house and tried to get upstairs unnoticed so that she could get a shower and change.

  "Honey, is that you?" Carrie's voice rang out from the living room.

  "No, it's a fucking burglar. I just happened to have keys to your door," she mumbled to herself, then replied, "Yes. I had to work late." It was just a little lie. She still hadn't gotten up the courage to tell Carrie about Henry. Wasn't at all sure that she would understand, and didn't think now was the time to talk about it. "I'll just run upstairs and get cleaned up . . . "

  "Well, come and meet Mom and Dad first," Carrie yelled.

  "And when you're done meeting Mother and Father, I'll just run my fingernails across the black board about four thousand times," Spider mumbled as she drug her way towards the living room.

  She'd seen pictures of them before, so there were no shocks. Tall, slender, slightly gray people who'd obviously had everything lifted and tucked at least once. They were attractive in a generic way, impersonal in a plastic-wrapped furniture sort of way, and looking at her as if they expected a genie to pop out of her butt.

  "Hello," she said nervously.

  "Mom, Dad, this is Spider. Spider this is my father, Robert, and my mother, Jill," Carrie said. Then she walked up and hugged Spider. If it were possible, Spider felt even more uncomfortable. She sort of hugged Carrie back without ever really touching her.

  Robert walked up to Spider and shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you. We've heard so much about you. Saw all your service medals—most impressive."

  Spider met his wet-noodle handshake with a firm, confident grip that she didn't really feel. "Thank you, Sir."

  Carrie's mother, Jill, hugged Spider. Spider tried and failed to figure out what to do with her own hands until she was released.

  "I'd better go up and change," Spider said. "Excuse me."

  Spider left at what she no doubt thought was a nice, even pace, but was in reality almost running.

  "She seems very nice," Jill said.

  Carrie sighed. She was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake. Spider was obviously miserable.

  "Mother, all she said was hi."

  "A police detective . . . " Her father said thoughtfully. "What kind of money does that bring in?"

  "Don't start with that, Dad," Carrie warned. "It bothers her that there is such a difference in our incomes, so let's please just not talk about salaries."

  "I was just interested," Robert said. "So, what can we talk about?"

  Jill looked at Carrie and said, "She's not all sulky and sullen like that last friend you had, is she? I hate to see you going after the same type over and over . . . "

  "Do we have to talk about every old girl friend I've ever had every time there's someone new in my life?" Carrie said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  "There's something else we can't talk about," Robert said. "Better start making a list, Jill."

  "Honey, you do tend to rush into things. You've known this woman for what, four, five months now? And, look, you've moved her into your home," Jill scolded.

  "Could you just maybe give her a break?" Carrie screamed. She lowered her voice. "I love Spider. I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

  "Well, gee! There's a new one," Jill scoffed.

  "Do we have to do this? Christ, I've never done this before. I've never even lived with someone before. I've certainly never gotten this close to anyone after knowing them for such a short period of time . . . " Carrie realized she wasn't exactly helping her case. "If I said anything like that before it was . . . well it was bullshit so that you wouldn't bitch at me for sleeping with someone . . . " This also wasn't particularly helpful. "I love you, I want to see you. Why do you have to make me crazy?"

  Her parents laughed.

  "I'm sorry, Carrie," Jill started. "But did it ever occur to you that it isn't any easier or more comfortable for us to meet your new friend than it is for you, or for her? We love you, and we want what's best for you. We're not here all the time, so we have to find out as much as possible while we're here."

  "I notice she's got really big hands," Robert said with a laugh. "I suppose that's got to be a plus."

  "Robert!" Jill shrieked in disbelief.

  Carrie blushed, but laughed anyway and shrugged. "It certainly doesn't hurt."

  Spider picked at her dinner, not so much because she was nervous, but mainly because Carrie was a horrible cook.

  "It's very good, Carrie," Jill said.

  Spider was surprised when she realized Jill wasn't lying. She looked at the old man, and one look at his face told her that he felt the same way about the food as she did. This could mean only one thing; that Jill was as bad a cook as Carrie.

  "What a world, what a world," Spider mumbled.

  "What's that, dear?" Jill asked.

  "Out of this world," Spider said.

  "You are such a shitty liar," Carrie said with a smile. "Spider's a good cook," she told her pa
rents. Then said to Spider, "I should have let you cook."

  "I will next time," Spider said.

  "So, working on any interesting cases?" Robert asked.

  Spider opened her mouth.

  "None that she should talk about at the dinner table," Carrie said with a warning look. The only case that Spider had that was interesting besides the Fry Guy cases was a mutilation down by the docks. Neither made for very pleasant dinner conversation.

  "So . . . " Robert said with a smile. "How many girl friends have you had?"

  "Daddy, for God's sake!" Carrie said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Spider smiled. "I've really only had one serious relationship besides Carrie."

  "So, what happened?" Robert pried. "Why'd you break up with her?"

  "Robert!" Jill protested. "You don't ask questions like that."

  "Well, excuse the hell out of me, but how am I supposed to keep up? Every time I turn around there's something else I'm not supposed to talk about. You're making my head spin."

  "A mortar hit her during the raid on Baghdad; she died instantly," Spider answered, not without emotion.

  "I . . . I'm sorry," Robert said. "I didn't know."

  "It's all right . . . " Spider said with a shrug. "How could you have known? I don't mind talking about her. She was a great gal, but she wasn't Carrie."

  Carrie looked at Spider and smiled. She was proud of the way Spider was holding up under her parents' scrutiny.

  "Was your father a police officer, or a service man?" Jill asked.

  "My dad was a drunken plumber. My mother died in a car accident when I was three. I went into the military to get out of the house. While I was in the Middle East my brother was murdered, and so when I got back state side I became a cop."

  Robert looked at his wife and smiled broadly. "So, now who asked a stupid question?"

  Spider had gone to bed. Carrie and her parents had stayed up talking. After about thirty minutes Robert excused himself and headed for the guest room.

  "She's led a very hard life, hasn't she?" Jill asked Carrie.

  "Yes she has. But she hasn't let it make her crazy. She's a little nervous tonight. She's normally very animated, very funny."

  "She have a death wish?" Jill asked seriously, looking at the wall where all her medals hung.

  Carrie thought about that for a moment. "I think she did have. I like to think I've changed that. She . . . it's hard to explain, Mother. She can't walk away."

  "What do you mean, dear?"

  "If she sees something wrong, she can't just walk away. I don't think that will ever change. She's very good at what she does. It's amazing to watch her work."

  "She must be good if they put her on the Fry Guy case."

  Carrie nodded silently. "It's really sad. No one in law enforcement wants to catch him. Except maybe the Feds, and I'm convinced they just want him for his weapon."

  "Any leads?"

  "Not really." Carrie shrugged.

  "I noticed her books . . . " Jill walked over to the bookshelves and started looking. "Unless of course your taste in reading has changed."

  "They're hers."

  "I can understand why she'd have an interest in criminals and criminal behavior. I guess that makes sense. But what is the fascination with the paranormal?"

  Carrie was not about to answer by telling her mother that her girl friend had psychic powers. "She believes, or would at least like to believe, in the existence of psychic ability. The power of the mind."

  "Everyone's had something happen that they couldn't explain. People who say they absolutely don't believe are lying, just as much as the guys who get on TV and tell you they can predict your future. Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there," Jill said.

  This started a conversation about the paranormal that lasted for two more hours.

  Things were happening; things she couldn't understand. The SWTF guys were all around her. They were like giants. The faceless woman screamed and screamed, but Spider couldn't understand what she was saying.

  The doctor said something to her father, something she couldn't hear. Was she sick? What were they doing to her? Why were they doing it? She felt fine until they kept poking her. Why did they keep poking her?

  The faceless woman called to her. She tried to go, tried and couldn't. There was something between them. Something that she couldn't see. All she had to do was reach her.

  Where was Scott? She couldn't see Scott. She screamed his name, but he wouldn't come.

  The faceless woman said he was OK, told her to come on to follow her, but she couldn't get through the barrier and the SWTF guys were yelling at her and someone kept poking her.

  She woke with a start and she was back in the hole. A pit with a lid. It was too hot to breathe. The stench from her own shit wafted up through the air, and the flies were as thick as water. They flew up her nose, and she brushed them away.

  She was naked and filthy and filled with black hatred. She looked up and up to the roof of her prison. Twelve feet of sandy dirt. The hole was only six feet across and made out of sand. It didn't take a genius to figure out that if you tried to climb out the walls would cave in and you'd suffocate. Once every three or four days they pulled her out of the pit just long enough to wash her down with a high-pressure hose. They screamed at her to tell them where her base of operations was. Then they fought over whether they should screw her or not. So far the commander's insistence that she was unclean and was not to be touched was saving her from at least that. They'd beat her, kick her through the dirt till she was as dirty as she had been before the spraying, and then they'd sling her back into the hole. She'd tried to mentally push them, and had learned that the language barrier did more than stop her from talking to them.

  There was no escape. No way out. Only sand and heat and flies, and yet she still wanted to live. Wanted to live and kill them all.

  She yelled for Scott, but Scott was dead, he couldn't help her now. No one could help her now. She yelled for him any way, and the bastards threw rocks on top of the tin covering her hole. The sound was deafening, and she covered her ears and cowered into a corner. Maybe she should try to climb out. Better to die trying to escape than die like a neglected hamster in a cage.

  There was light—too much light. She was blinded by the intensity of it, and they snared her by the shackles on her wrists with a curved pole before she had a chance to even put up a fight. At the top of the pit she looked into the eyes of the two turbaned bastards. They were alone. No doubt they weren't afraid of becoming unclean. They had just made a terrible mistake. She grabbed the pole one of them held with both shackled hands, ripped it out of his hands and slammed it into his head in one movement. Then she spun and hit the other. Both landed at her feet.

  Most of them slept during the heat of the day. No doubt these two bastards had decided to use that as an opportunity to wet their winkies. One of them twitched, and she lifted the pole high and slammed it into him, crushing his face with such force that his brains oozed out of his head. She drug the dead men behind a wall out of sight. Neither one of them had any keys, but one of them had a knife. After several tries she was able to pick the lock and get the shackle off of one of her hands. She closed the loose end up over the other cuff. She grabbed their side arms first, and then she striped one of them and put on his clothes. She smiled because she knew now that she was very close to freedom. No one had sounded an alarm yet, so no one had any idea she had escaped.

  She looked at the hole and then back at the now naked dead man. She quickly drug him over and dropped him in. Looking from the light into the darkness of the pit they might not even notice that it was a naked man instead of a naked woman. She quickly put the tin over the hole and quietly made her way through camp towards the motor pool. Even the guy in charge of guarding the motor pool was sleeping. The few people she'd seen moving around hadn't seen through her disguise. She got in a truck and turned the key. She was almost out of the motor pool when
the alarm sounded. She sped up.

  At the gates two guards stepped into her path, firing. She shot one, but before she could kill the other one a bullet struck her in the stomach. It was hard and hot. She crashed through the gates and down the road out into the desert. She didn't know how long she drove or how far. It was hot. She'd packed her wound, but something was wrong, and she was going to need medical attention soon. Problem was she had no idea where she was. The jeep started to act up, and she realized that she had run out of gas. She looked up at the blazing sun. It was still a long time till nightfall. The jeep sputtered and died.