One of Us

by Craig DiLouie

  The police car pulled in front of the house and sat humming in the heat and light of day. The engine stopped. She had one last thing to do. The bottle and glass on the mantle. Just a finger to steady the nerves. She had to appear just like she would any other day. The Devil was on her side. Even God understood. Linda had a belt, poured another, and hurried to turn on her soaps just as the sheriff knocked.

  Taking her time, she went to the door and opened it. Instinctively, she struck a pose leaning on the frame. “Well, look who it is. Howdy, Tom. Been a while. How you been?”

  “Just fine, thank ye,” the sheriff said. “How about yourself?”

  “I been hunky-dory,” she said.

  “You’re looking good.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You out canvasing for votes, or is this a social call?”

  He didn’t smile. “Neither, I’m sad to say. Can I come in?”

  “Where are my manners? Of course, come on in.”

  Burton followed her inside. He carried a plastic bag with something red in it. She gave it a passing glance before returning her gaze to his face. She didn’t know what it was but knew not to stare.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Some cold iced tea?”

  “No, thank ye. I need to talk to you about your girl, Amy.”

  “She’s upstairs. She been awful sick the past few days. Caught the flu.”

  “Poor thing,” Burton said. “When did you say she got sick?”

  “My baby’s been out of school since Wednesday.”

  “I’ll need to have a word with her, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, I do mind, Tom. She’s in a bad way.”

  He held up the thing in its plastic bag: a school textbook stained pink and covered in the rags of a paper-bag book cover. Giant letters, Amy’s lilting scrawl drawn in Magic Marker. HEALTH, it said. AMY GREEN. Flowers and doodles and fragments of song lyrics, all smeared and barely legible.

  “Afraid I have to insist,” he said.

  Linda blinked. “I, uh, can’t read that. What’s it say?”

  “This is your daughter’s schoolbook.”

  She sipped her bourbon, her mind scrambling. “Where did you find it?”

  “We pulled it out of a man’s car.”

  “Who’s the man?”

  “Drifter named Ray Bowie who worked out at the Home. Who also happens to be dead now, hence my interest. Were you aware Amy might have known him?”

  “That’s horrible. But she never mentioned him.”

  “Do you know where she was Tuesday night?”

  “Amy came home around six and we had our supper. She did her homework upstairs and came down to watch some TV. Same as most days.”

  “All right,” Burton said.

  “All right, what?”

  “All right, I need to talk to her.”

  “Why don’t we sit on the sofa and you and me talk a bit?”

  “I’d love to catch up, Linda, but I’m on the clock.”

  “Amy’s a good girl,” she said.

  “I know she is. I promise to be discreet with whatever she tells me about her relationship with Ray Bowie.”

  “She’s awful sick up there, Tom.”

  “I swear I’ll be gentle with her,” he said.

  He started up the stairs.

  “Wait,” she said.

  The sheriff sighed. “This has to be done. I’m going up.”

  Linda looked at the sofa where she’d hidden her gun. “You go on, then. I’ll be along directly.”

  Amy moaned in her fever dreams. Plague kids danced in front of a burning farmhouse. Misshapen silhouettes. Twisted and capering shadows. Shame Addiction screamed to drown out the laughter.

  Amy, her mama called from the dark.

  The kids thrust pitchforks into the flames and roasted their marshmallows.

  Amy, Amy.

  Mama was calling her home for supper.

  The marshmallows turned into dripping arms and legs.

  Bowie gripped the back of her neck and showed her a cattle prod. Come on, darlin’. You’re gonna miss all the fun.

  Amy, Mama said.

  She woke up drenched in sweat. “I don’t want it.”

  The sheriff looked down at her. “Hello, honey. How are you feeling?”

  “Sheriff?”

  “That’s right. I’ve come to check on you.”

  She looked around her room. “I ain’t well, sir.”

  She just wanted to go back to sleep. Even with the fever dreams, she could forget her real life. Pretend it wasn’t real.

  Sheriff Burton sat on the edge of the bed and put his hat on the covers. “I need to ask you a few questions about Ray Bowie.”

  Amy shook her head, unsure if this was just another dream.

  “Honey, Bowie’s dead,” Burton said. “Somebody killed him.”

  “I know who he is. He ain’t a friend or anything.”

  “Uh-huh,” Burton said.

  Amy realized her mistake. She should have shown surprise he was dead.

  “Were you ever in his car?” the sheriff said.

  Standing behind the sheriff, Mama gave a little nod. She kept her hand in the bulging pocket of her housecoat.

  “Yes, sir,” Amy said. “Just the one time.”

  “Was you with him when he got killed?”

  Mama tensed. “Now, Tom—”

  “It’s a simple question,” the sheriff said, his eyes still on Amy.

  Amy burst into tears. “Oh, Lord.”

  “You snuck out again, didn’t you?” Burton said. “Took a drive and parked someplace.”

  “We was just talking,” Amy said. “Honest.”

  Mama frowned. “What do you mean, snuck out again?”

  The sheriff ignored her. “What came next?”

  Amy wanted so badly to confess but didn’t know what to say. She woke up and Bowie was dead. That meant she couldn’t have done it. It wasn’t her. It was the thing inside her. The thing that fought to protect itself.

  “Monster,” Amy breathed.

  “A creeper came along? What happened, Amy?”

  Creeper, she thought. What was he talking about?

  Amy conjured up her hate. Her hate of Bowie, the plague, baby Tony floating in a jar, the creature lurking inside her. All the creatures, everywhere. The whole generation of the plague.

  Yes, she decided. He was right. He was right about everything.

  “A creeper attacked us,” she told the sheriff. “Just like you said.”

  “I know this is hard. Did you get a look at him?”

  “Big,” she gasped, groping for words.

  “Go on. You’re doing good.”

  “Hairy. Fast. I only caught a glimpse. It took Ray. Took his head off. Blood everywhere.”

  Lies, all of it, but the horror was real enough.

  “All right—”

  “I ran away. I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t. Honest.”

  Then she cried even harder. The pain tore at her insides until it birthed through her heart and left, one monster expelled.

  “All right,” Burton said. “You’re a good girl. I’m sorry to upset you.”

  “Monster,” she shouted. “It did it. It killed him. It ate his head. Monster!”

  It wasn’t me, she thought.

  She almost believed it.

  Twenty-Three

  After school, Jake set out on his daily pilgrimage down the lonely road to Amy’s house. Michelle joined him today, swinging her book bag.

  “I sure hope she’s feeling better today,” he said.

  “I got to be home by five on the dot. I’m still grounded.”

  “I am beginning to seriously fret.”

  “You ain’t even listening to me,” Michelle said.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, sorry. I’m preoccupied.”

  She sighed. “Just like Sally. Always away in her own thoughts lately. Amy’s got the flu, Jake. She ain’t dying.”

  “I don’t l
ike when people I care about get real sick.”

  “Oh.” She grimaced. “Right. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Honestly, I think it’s sweet how you care,” Michelle told him.

  “I really miss her. I ain’t seen her since we was at the A & P.”

  “Speaking of which, I’m surprised you ain’t grounded.”

  “Pa preaches fear, and folks walk home from church happy as a dead pig in sunshine,” Jake said. “I preach loving the weak, and everybody hollers.”

  “They’re already afraid. Your daddy gives them what they want.”

  He considered this. “Yeah. You might be right.”

  “Telling them to love what they’re scared of, well. That makes folks upset.”

  “God. How does anything change ever?”

  “Run for president,” Michelle said.

  “Maybe I will.”

  “We’ll all vote for you. Nobody else will, though.”

  Jake laughed. “Anyways, we worked it out. I’m gonna start a food and clothing drive for the Home after everything settles down.”

  “Sure, maybe in the year 2000.”

  “Yeah, I think it’ll—”

  He threw her a look, laughed again, and kept walking.

  Amy’s house came into view. The weathered American colonial sat behind yellow poplars, its paint chipped and fading. Mrs. Green’s orange Datsun rusted in the driveway. One day, he decided, he’d offer to repaint the house if Mrs. Green paid for the materials.

  They tramped up onto the wide porch and rang the doorbell.

  The door opened. Mrs. Green appeared behind the screen door in a housecoat, arms crossed and blowing a stream of smoke. “You’re the persistent sort, ain’t you.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Green. Just thought I’d swing by and check on Amy again.”

  The screen door creaked open. The woman stepped onto the porch. “She’s mending well.”

  “That’s good. Can we see her?”

  Mrs. Green took in Michelle. “You gonna introduce me to your friend or just let her stand there looking awkward?”

  “Sorry for my manners,” Jake said. “This is Michelle Johnson.”

  “Hi,” Michelle said and offered a little wave.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Green said and swung her head back in Jake’s direction. “Amy ain’t receiving again today. You might see her Monday at school.”

  “But—”

  “I got to be getting back to her now. Michelle, it was real nice meeting one of Amy’s friends. Y’all take care getting on home. Goodbye.”

  “Bye, Mrs. Green,” Michelle said with another wave and bounced off the porch.

  “Tell Amy I miss her and hope she gets better real soon,” Jake said.

  “I surely will. Bye, now.”

  “Bye,” he said, lingering a moment before running off to join Michelle.

  “Feeling better now?” Michelle said.

  Jake chewed the inside of his lip. “Actually, no. Not even a bit.”

  He heard tapping and turned around to see Mrs. Green still standing on the porch with her arms crossed, blowing another stream of smoke into the warm air. Then he looked up and saw Amy standing in a second-floor window.

  She had nothing on, using the sheer white curtain to cover herself.

  Amy looked down at him standing in the front yard. She’d felt so ugly after what happened to her. Then Jake gaped up at her with wide eyes, and she was beautiful again.

  Michelle tugged at his arm. He grinned and waved before setting off.

  Mama turned and frowned up at the window. Amy yelped and jumped back. She got her bathrobe on and tied as her mother stomped up the stairs and banged into the room breathing smoke.

  Mama stood by the bed with her arms crossed. “I don’t think you should see that boy no more.”

  “He’s my boyfriend,” Amy said. “I’m in love with him.”

  She’d come so close to betraying him after she’d gotten into Ray Bowie’s car. Betrayal for a little excitement and danger. Good music and a fancy ride. All just smoke and mirrors. Jake had come to check on her. Loyal and devoted. A boy she could trust. Jake was real. A lesson learned, one she’d not soon forget.

  Her mama sat on the edge of the bed and patted the covers, inviting her to sit. Amy realized she was standing rigid with her arms crossed, a younger mirror image of her mother. She unfolded her arms and sat.

  “You don’t even know what love is,” Mama said. “Neither of you do. You’re too young. What if he found out what you are? You think he’d stick by you?”

  “I believe he would.”

  “Your own daddy didn’t stick by you. He didn’t for me, neither. Your first boyfriend ain’t usually your last, anyways.”

  “I don’t want to argue about it, Mama. I slept for two days and had nightmares the whole time. I’m still feeling poorly.”

  Poorly didn’t come close to covering it. The horror of what Bowie had done all came back to her now, along with the fear she might have killed him.

  Mama eyed her with concern. “Why don’t you lie down and rest some more?”

  Amy didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to scrub herself good and raw and make herself clean again. “What I need is a hot bath.”

  She got up and went down the hall to the bathroom. She turned on the spigot and ran her toothbrush under it while the tub filled.

  Mama appeared in the doorway while she brushed her teeth. “I raised you good, but you got some stupid in you. You got that from me, not just your age. You need to be smarter than me.”

  Amy washed out her mouth and spat in the sink. “I ain’t stupid. Maybe ignorant about a lot of things, but not stupid.”

  “I just feel like I’m the only one here trying to protect you.”

  “I want to live. I’m still learning. This is the first year I even had any real friends. You want me to give up everything I got and live in a box.”

  Before her mother could say another word, Amy dropped her robe and stepped into the tub. She pulled the curtain closed and sat in the hot water. Steam moistened her skin.

  Mama said, “I have something important to tell you.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t want to fight no more. I’m tuckered out.”

  “We ain’t fighting, we’re talking.”

  Amy sighed as she scrubbed her arms. “Go ahead and say your piece.”

  “We might have to think about moving away from here,” Mama said.

  Amy recoiled as if slapped. She pulled the curtain back. “Why?”

  “Tom Burton don’t look like much, but he’s a tick. Once he smells blood, he bites and don’t let go.”

  “Oh, my God. You think I’m the one killed Ray, don’t you?”

  “It don’t matter if you did or didn’t. The sheriff will run in a big circle until he comes back and presses you again. He’ll keep on pressing until he gets the truth.”

  Amy yanked the curtain closed and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t keep living like this.”

  “Oh, don’t be dramatic. We done okay. Things could be a lot worse for you.”

  “I was forced, Mama. That boy forced himself on me.”

  “I know,” Mama said in a soft voice.

  “And I’m suffocating. It ain’t my fault I was born this way.”

  “You think I don’t know that. That I don’t feel shame every day of my life. It’s my responsibility. Let me protect you from yourself. I made my mistakes, but I’ve learned some things. I know what’s best for you.”

  Amy imagined walking down the halls at school while all the kids stared and whispered behind their hands. Pictured telling Jake what she was and seeing his face screw up in disgust. Imagined him broken and devastated after finding out she’d given him the germ.

  She saw Burton and his deputies drag her screaming to the Home.

  Amy next pictured moving with Mama from town to town, living in hotel rooms that smelled like old ashtrays. Imagined herself never real
ly knowing another human being aside from her mother. Pictured depending on this woman every hour of every day the rest of her life.

  “No,” she said. “No, Mama.”

  “No, what.”

  “If we run, we’ll never stop running. Staying has risks, but that’s life, and I want to live. I’m just starting to live, and I ain’t giving it up.”

  Mama opened the door. “All right. You want to grow up faster than you should, then you can figure out how to get out from under the sheriff. You think on it long and hard, baby girl.”

  “We’ll be all right,” Amy said. “I just know it.”

  “A word of advice. Get to know that monster you got inside you. Learn how to use her. We may need her again someday.”

  Mama closed the door behind her.

  Twenty-Four

  Saturday morning. Sunrise at the Albod farm. The land was quiet and still.

  Gaines studied the land as he loaded his twelve gauge with #8 birdshot. Full breakfast in his belly and coffee warming his chest. Archie cradled his short twenty-gauge, staying close to his daddy. Both wore brown hunting clothes and orange vests. Enoch stood with his hands in the pockets of his raggedy shorts, eyeing the distant farmhouse.

  “You ready?” Gaines asked his son.

  His boy gaped at the creeper. He’d never seen one up close before. “Yeah, Daddy. I’m all set.”

  Albod’s land promised good bobwhite quail hunting. Beautiful birds and good eating. Tough to hunt. You had to be on your game.

  Gaines pumped a round and stuck the barrel in the air. “All right, Enoch. Let’s bag some birds.”

  “I don’t know a thing about hunting, Mr. Gaines.”

  “The quail make a sound like they’re saying bob white, bob white. That’s a mating call, but they only do it in spring and summer. Other times, they make a kind of low whistle, like a squeak. We’re gonna listen for that.”

  “Okay,” said Enoch.

  “You’re gonna be our flushing dog. Bobwhite come out to eat seeds, then they like to hang around in weeds and bushes. We come to a good spot, you run in and get them riled. We’ll handle it from there.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Lead the way then,” Gaines told him.