by Rob Mclean
“Well, you haven’t heard from Zeke, that’s okay. I gotta go now.”
“Christy, don’t be mad at me,” Angela begged.
“I’m not,” Christy said, but Angela could hear the lie.
“I’m here for you,” Angela said.
“Okay.”
“Love you, girlfriend.”
“Yeah, you too. Bye.”
Christy cut the call and Angela felt her heart snap.
She hated making Christy feel bad. People always did when you called them out for their lack of faith, but it needed to be said. Still, it hurt to be rejected and she felt the sting deep in her chest.
She was thinking about whether to call Christy back now or to give her some thinking time and call her later, or maybe even calling Aaron to see if he could convince her to move, when there was a pounding on the front door.
She stole a look out the window again, but there were no police cars outside. In fact there wasn’t any car out front.
Angela went to the top of the stairs and waited. Normally her mother would answer the door, but Angela decided she would instead. Her mother was coming out of her father’s room and frowned when she saw Angela about to open the door.
Angela waved her back and peered through the spy-hole as she had seen her mother do on many occasions. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a discoloured patch where her mother’s face had worn the paint around the spy-hole smooth.
Outside, she saw Zeke.
Without hesitation, she opened the door.
He looked terrible.
“I need a drink,” he said by way of greeting as he pushed past her, heading straight to the kitchen. “Water.”
Angela watched him shuffle to the kitchen. He leaned against the sink as he downed three glasses of water in quick succession.
“Oh, God, that was good,” he said, slamming the empty glass down.
“I gotta sit down,” he said. He limped to the sitting room and flopped on the three seater lounge. His arms and legs draped over the edges as he lay flat on his back and groaned.
Angela and her mother looked at each other as they stood over his languid form.
“Are you okay?” Angela asked after giving him a moment to relax.
His eyes opened, but he said nothing as he regarded her.
“Is there anything we can get you?” Angela asked.
“Maybe fix you a sandwich?” her mother suggested.
“Yeah, that’d be good,” he said without looking away from Angela.
She waited until her mother had left the room before she knelt beside him and said, “Christy told me Chels was arrested.”
“She’ll be okay. She’s done nothing.”
“But what about you?”
“Yeah, what about me?” His voice dropped an octave.
Angela instinctively moved back a bit.
“I’ve had a bit of time to think, while I walked for hours to get here,” he said, sitting himself up, “how did they know?”
“Know what? Your plans to… you know…”
“Yeah, that,” he sat upright and leaned in towards her. “That and where I live.”
“Oh, well, don’t be looking at me like that,” she said, getting onto her feet. “I certainly didn’t tell them.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, she hadn’t actually directly informed the authorities.
“No?” He put out his hand. “Gimme your phone.”
“Why?”
“I was laboriously putting all your old contacts from your old phone into the new one I got for you and you got a text from the rock ape.”
“John?” her heart missed a beat. “What did he want?”
“I dunno, something about thanking you for a bear for his sister.”
“Oh… okay, so where’s my old phone now?”
“It’s gone,” he said too quickly. Angela had a feeling deep in her bones that he was lying, but she couldn’t figure why. “So gimme your phone.”
“Fine,” she said, digging it out of her back pocket.
He took it from her and thumbed through her virtual life. “You don’t even screen lock it,” he said shaking his head.
After a moment of scrolling, he added, “His number’s not here.”
“If you didn’t put it in, I certainly haven’t added it.”
He gave her a satisfied nod, before getting back to her phone with a smirk and another shake of his head.
Her mother appeared with a tray loaded with sandwiches, cookies and milk.
“Would you like a coffee?” she asked, putting the tray down on a nearby coffee table. Then, getting no reply as Zeke continued to scroll through Angela’s phone, she added, “perhaps later.”
“Is everything alright?” she asked Angela in an exaggerated stage whisper.
“No. He thinks I reported him.”
“Did you?” Clarice asked.
Angela stared at her mother before giving her a questioning look. Her mother’s face was a mask of innocence, but Zeke hadn’t looked up from her phone.
“No! Of course not.” Angela felt both offended and confused at her mother’s question.
“Well, if you say you didn’t report him,” her mother gave her a pat on her arm and a wink, “then that’s good enough for me.”
Zeke thrust the screen of Angela’s phone at her. “You’re moving to McCamey?” He fired the accusation at Angela as though she had taken a new lover. “Where the hell is that?”
“Western Texas, between Dallas and El-Paso.”
“What sort of shit-hole is that?”
“Goodness, language,” Clarice frowned. She took the tray and returned to the kitchen.
“Never heard of it,” he said ignoring Clarice’s protests. “I’m sure as hell not moving there.”
“Please yourself, but that’s where I’ll be.”
“No. If you want to be my wife, you’ll be right here, by my side,” Zeke took a bite from a sandwich and then pointed it at Angela. “And that’s here in L.A.”
Angela said nothing while she waited for him to wolf down the sandwiches. She expected his mood to improve once he had refuelled and rested.
“I’ll need the recharger for this,” he said indicating her phone. Before she could protest, he added, “and your car.”
“What? No way. How am I supposed to get around?”
“And some money. How much you got?”
“No, you can’t just take…” Angela felt her anger rising along with her voice.
“Look, your crappy little car is worth next to nothing,” he stood and slid her phone into his back pocket. “When I get my stuff back, trust me, I’ll pay you back. Hell, I could buy it a thousand times over.”
Angela planted her feet and crossed her arms.
Zeke poked his finger into her chest. “You have no idea how difficult you’re being right now. So much is depending on me doing my part.”
Angela said nothing.
“The Alien AntiChrist is here tomorrow…”
“And if you think you’re going to use my stuff to help kill him, then…”
“Don’t give me that,” he said, his voice rising, “I am doing what’s right.”
“Killing people isn’t right.”
“That thing’s not a person.”
“No? Sure looks like one to me.”
“Of course it looks like one. It’s using a human body to fool everyone, including you.” He jabbed his finger hard into Angela’s chest.
“Ow, that hurt.”
“Look, I’ve had to walk for hours to get here. I’m tired, footsore and was hungry and thirsty. I came here ‘cause you’re meant to be my fiancé, my future wife and I thought I could count on you for help.”
“Happy to help you get better, but I’m not helping you kill anyone,” she held up her hand, “or anything that looks human.”
“I’m not in a real good mood at the moment and,” his voice getting louder with each word, “you’re – not – making – it – any – better!”
Angela blinked, stunned by his outburst.
“Now get me the keys!”
Clarice came rushing out of the kitchen. “What’s all the shouting about?”
“He wants my car.”
“And cash,” Zeke added.
“Well, give it to him,” Clarice said as if it were the simplest little problem.
“What? He’s going to use my stuff to kill the Envoy.”
“But he’s your future husband, dear,” Clarice said as gently as she could, but to Angela it just sounded patronizing.
“No,” Angela said in a small stubborn voice. She sat herself down, wrapped her arms around herself tightly and lowered her head. “Not going to, you can’t make me.”
“Now dear, stop your little tantrum…”
“For fuck’s sake!” Zeke bellowed. “I’m trying to do something here.”
Angela glared at him.
The blood drained from Clarice’s face. Her hands shook as she held them up to placate Zeke. “I’ll get them.”
“No,” Angela moved to stand but Zeke pushed her back into the lounge.
“Sit,” he commanded as Clarice hurried out to find the keys.
“You can’t…” Angela said as she tried to get up.
Zeke slapped her across her face. Like a summer dress swirling behind a pirouetting dancer, her hair twirled out as her head snapped to the side.
“My goodness,” Clarice cried. She came rushing to Angela aid.
“Keys,” he barked.
Clarice froze mid stride, with her hands reaching out to her stricken daughter and her feet edging towards the kitchen.
“Now!”
“Yes, yes,” she hurried out to the kitchen, calling back to her daughter. “Don’t be a silly girl, just do as he says.”
He turned to Angela. “You made me do that.”
“What?”
“You were getting hysterical.”
“I…”
“Where’s your father?”
“Don’t you ever hit me,” she said, her voice laden with malice. “Do you hear me, you shit?”
She stood and faced him, her chest pushed forwards and her hands balled into fists.
He took a step back and smiled. “You turning the other cheek now?”
“You hit me ever again and it’s over!” Shouting released the rush of anger she felt throbbing in her temples. “You hear me?”
“You get hysterical and disobedient again…”
“Disobedient?” Angela glared at him, challenging him to hit her again.
“She won’t.” Angela felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders, turning her away into a protective embrace.
“Where’s Geoffrey?” Zeke asked again.
“Probably loading his gun,” Angela said, the sting of her cheek fuelling her spite.
Zeke took a worried look towards the master bedroom, clearly weighing up his options.
“He’s asleep,” Clarice said, handing over the keys, “or he was.”
Angela wondered how anyone could sleep through all this noise going on, but maybe he was sedated, she didn’t know.
“Good,” Zeke said in a calmer voice, “now the recharger and some cash, if you don’t mind.”
Clarice nodded and scurried off to the bedroom.
Angela glared at Zeke. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, mostly hateful.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Zeke said watching Clarice go, “but you have no idea what’s going down at the moment.”
“I don’t care…” She turned away from him.
‘How could you have ever wanted to spend your life with someone like this?’ her inner voice asked. She had a vision of that empowered woman in yellow flowing robes, the harsh mistress of inner reason, and the one that spoke to her in the quiet times of loneliness. She berated her, ‘you deserve better.’
“Hey where you going?” Zeke reached his hand out to her.
She knocked it away. “To get the recharger.”
“Okay, and money. I need money.”
Angela climbed the stairs without looking back. When she got to her room, she briefly thought about barricading herself in, as she had done before, but that wouldn’t help. She couldn’t hide from the mess her life had suddenly become.
She emptied her purse and took the envelope from the bottom of her cupboard where she had been keeping her savings. It was all as empty now as her heart felt, but she willed herself not to cry. Not yet, not in front of him.
With her recharger in hand and her savings in the other, she went back down the stairs to see her mother coming out of her own bedroom.
She had her father’s gun in her hand, but she was holding it wrong. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t trying to use it. Instead, she was offering it to Zeke. She watched him weighing it up as she approached, before handing it back.
“You can keep the cannon. You might need it. This town’s gone to the dogs,” he said counting the wad of money her mother had handed over.
“It’s not much, I know,” she said.
“Yeah.: He nodded to Angela. “What you got?”
She handed over her cash without a word.
“A few hundred dollars, maybe a grand,” Zeke frowned. “Don’t you have any of the new money?”
“We don’t need it where we’re going,” Clarice said.
Angela just glared. She toyed with the idea of grabbing the gun, but she didn’t even know if the safety was on.
“The recharger?” he asked with a weary and patronizing tone.
Angela pushed past him and strode to the front door. She opened it and threw the recharger as far as she could. It landed on the lawn of the house across the road.
“Now get out,” she said.
Zeke growled as he stuffed the cash in his pockets.
“Later, Mrs White,” he said, then under his breath as he stomped past Angela, “bitch.”
“Just get out of here,” she screamed like a shrill fisher-wife as she slammed the door behind him.
She turned on her mother. “What the hell?”
“Don’t you use that foul language on me, young lady.”
“He hit me!”
“Yes, I saw,” she shook her head. “It wasn’t right.”
“You think?”
“You shouldn’t have defied him like that…”
“What?”
“A wife should obey her husband…”
“And he should love and honour me,” Angela countered. “Not hit me.”
“He was tired and angry…”
“So?”
“And you provoked him.”
“No,” Angela stared at her mother in utter disbelief. She shook her head. “No it’s never right for him to hit me.”
“He said he was sorry,” her mother pleaded.
“I don’t care…”
“Who hit who?” Geoffrey said. His thin form ghosted from the bedroom. He had one hand on the doorframe and the other clutching his pyjama pants and the transparent oxygen tubing.
“It’s okay dear,” Clarice rushed over to him.
“No, it’s not okay,” Angela said, pointing to her reddened cheek, “Zeke hit me.”
“Bastard,” Geoff spat. “I thought I was dreaming, all the shouting…”
He suddenly screwed up his face, pain written in his features. He started to put a hand to his chest, the one holding his pyjama bottoms, but stopped when they started to fall. Instead he swapped hands, but without the support of the doorframe, he staggered forwards and fell.
Clarice cried out and tried to catch him, but was too slow. He fell heavily, crashing onto a sideboard cupboard on the way to the floor.
He lay on the floor, blood pouring from a gash on his head, still clutching his chest. A low moan came from his foetal form.
“Call an ambulance,” Clarice said, kneeling beside him. She had a napkin pressed to his wound, but a creeping red stain was engulfing it.
Angela went to grab her phone from her
back pocket, then cursed Zeke silently when she remembered it wasn’t there.
“Use your father’s,” Clarice snapped. “It’s in the bedroom, on the charger.”
Angela rushed to her parent’s room. She tried to ignore the stale musty smell coming from the human shaped impression in the bed-sheets and mattress. She searched for his phone amid the medications that filled both his bedside table and dresser.
She found the phone, attached to the recharger on top of a pile of books that he’d probably now never read. She tried not to think of that as she opened his phone.
It wanted a PIN. She was about to ask, but with a moment’s thought, she tried his old L.A.P.D number. It worked.
“Hurry, dear,” her mother called.
“I am.” Angela took a breath trying to fight down her frustrations and dialled. She walked out of the bedroom. Her father hadn’t moved.
“Hold this,” her mother took her hand and pressed it to the blood soaked napkin. She hurried off the kitchen.
A woman’s voice on the line asked her name and address, which she gave.
“And what is the nature of your emergency today ma’am?” The voice couldn’t sound any less interested if she tried.
“My father’s collapsed,” Angela said trying to sound calmer than she felt.
“And you’re using his phone?”
“Yes, we need an ambulance please?”
“One moment,” the disembodied woman said, then put her on hold.
“I don’t believe this…” Angela said, taking the phone from her ear and looking at it.
Her mother returned with a handful of tea-towels. She took over from Angela.
“They’ve got me on hold.”
“His heart pills, dear,” her mother said pointing to the bedroom. “On the bedside table.”
There must have been a hundred different types of pills, tablets and creams there. “No, no, you get them,” she said, taking a fresh tea-towel.
Her mother groaned as she got up, but scurried to the bedroom. She returned moments later with a small white plastic bottle of pills. “What’s happening dear? How soon ‘til they get here?”
“Mom, I’m still on hold.”
“Ridiculous! What’s this country coming to when decent people can’t get…” she said as she pushed a pill under his tongue.
Angela waved her to hush. The hold announcements had stopped and the woman had returned.