Speak No Evil

by Liana Gardner

  Too slow. Melody grabbed the bookshelf and pulled. It didn’t budge. It had been bolted to the wall.

  Rage ripped through her like wildfire as she pummeled the bookcase.

  Arms encircled her from behind. She thrashed and struggled against his hold. Dr. Kane clamped her arms to her sides and kept her from lashing out. Years of pent-up emotion overpowered and sobs escaped—her dam had burst. Her knees weakened and she sagged against his chest and slid downward.

  He stopped her descent with a bear hug and rocked back and forth. “That’s right. Let it out.”

  Settling back on the couch, Melody dabbed her eyes with a sodden tissue. Stinging eyes, headache, and stuffed-up sinuses—she hadn’t cried like that since Quatie died.

  “Here.” Dr. Kane held out a cup of water.

  The first sip eased the throat pain and helped calm her. She rested her head against the couch and closed her eyes.

  After several minutes of silence, Dr. Kane cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Melody. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She drew her knees up, hugged them, and rocked.

  “Sometimes we react more strongly to a trigger than we expect and what we’re reacting to isn’t about the specific trigger, but more about everything else.”

  The rocking motion soothed. She didn’t want to stop.

  “In your case, anger is to be expected. We’ve been working hard to dig deep to get to the root of why you stopped speaking. In doing so, you’ve been facing a lot of memories—things from your past you’d like to forget. We’re ripping the scabs off your wounds and it hurts.”

  Her rocking slowed and she gazed at him through a curtain of hair.

  Dr. Kane leaned forward. “You have done an amazing job so far, and I’m proud of you.”

  Melody released her knees and raked the hair out of her face.

  “If you’re feeling up to it, we have some time left and I’d like to go back to your placement with the Jacksons.”

  Melody shrugged. Her outburst had left her numb.

  “You were angry about being placed with them and didn’t like your time there. Why?”

  She stared at her hands as the moment stretched into minutes. At least he didn’t push her to answer. Before fifteen minutes had passed, she made up her mind.

  As she reached for the music player, he stretched his arm toward her. “If you can, sing with whatever song you select. The more you sing, the easier it will be to talk.”

  Melody navigated back to “In Control of Me” and forwarded to the chorus. Nothing told her pain with the Jacksons like it.

  Never fitting in

  Held back by chains

  Alone in hell

  Where the devil reigns

  I want to move on

  I want to be free

  I want to be

  In control of me

  She hit the pause button before it continued to the verse. Releasing her emotions about the Jacksons through song felt good. Singing always made her feel better.

  “The case notes mention an altercation with Grady Jackson which precipitated your removal from there. What was the argument about?” He squinted as he read the page.

  Melody didn’t bother to use the music player. Since “Rattlesnake Song” was a cappella anyway, she didn’t need the music.

  On your belly, slither on by

  Rattlesnake don’t bite, don’t make me cry

  The hills are full, in the green green grass

  Please leave me be, let me pass

  Dr. Kane stopped reading, looked at her then back at the case notes. He shook his head. “I am horrified by what I just read. How does someone justify those actions? How do you feel about what happened?”

  Melody pressed play to continue to the next verse of “In Control of Me.” Nothing needed to be said.

  I don’t need

  Another sinner on earth

  To tell me

  What I am worth

  With my head down

  There is God above

  Rain down on hate

  God show me love

  Chapter Twenty-One

  April 7, 2012 – Melody, age 13

  I strolled alongside the creek, the ground soft underfoot. The air still had a nip, although it was supposed to be warmer in the afternoon. The week had been an odd one with temperatures ranging from 80F a few days before to near-freezing last night.

  Every Saturday, I left the house as soon as I could and stayed away as long as possible. Grady Jackson and Uncle Harlan would probably be good buddies if they knew each other. Except Grady never went to church and Uncle Harlan cloaked his nastiness in the word of God. Both filled with hate, taking everything to self-righteous extremes.

  Uncle Harlan always wore a shirt and tie, while Grady wore jeans and a T-shirt most days. Despite their superficial differences, they’d recognize their kindred spirit—the desire to make everyone around them miserable and filled with fear.

  I pulled the music player out of my pocket and slowly unwound the headphones. Miss Prescott had had to intervene when Grady wanted to take it away from me. He thought music gave people bad ideas and wouldn’t allow me to sing around the house. I scooped up a rock and threw it as hard and far as I could down the creek.

  Every week I asked about a new foster family and every week the answer was the same. Be patient—they were looking, but the right placement hadn’t come up yet. Miss Prescott should know better. I’d given up on having the right placement when Quatie Raincrow died.

  I wanted someplace better than the Jacksons’, nothing more.

  Hooking the headphones over my ears, I pushed the buds in, then picked one of my favorite songs and hit play. Something about music spoke to my soul. I touched the treble and bass clef music charm hanging from the silver chain at my throat. The notes themselves captured the emotion I felt. Even songs with no words tapped depths that could move me to tears. Mama, Daddy, and Quatie had understood my need for music. Without music, I might as well be dead.

  Ahead a patch of tall grass waved against the breeze. I instantly stilled. A small animal must be hiding in the grass and I didn’t want to spook it. I yanked the headphones out and draped them around my neck. I needed all my senses to help identify what hid in the grass.

  Placing my heel softly on the ground, I rolled forward on my toes. I moved slowly toward the rustling grasses. With as quietly as I moved, the critter still might feel the vibrations of my footsteps. I needed to stay alert against attack.

  The grasses parted in a serpentine pattern. Judging the width of the gap, it was probably a snake, which meant extra caution should be used. At least I wasn’t wearing shorts. Not that Grady Jackson would allow shorts. But I wore thick jeans, which meant if it attacked, as long as I wasn’t stupid enough to stick my hand down low, I shouldn’t get hurt.

  Based on the sluggish movement, it might be hurt. I picked up a stick from the creek bank and used it to spread the grass. The rattle sounded. I froze. I didn’t want to cause it more alarm. The canebrake pulled back into a half-striking position, its tongue licking the air.

  “Oh no.” The underbelly of the snake was blistered and raw-looking. No wonder it moved slowly. It must hurt to drag your body across the ground when your front was all blistered. It needed help or it would die.

  I crooned to it to help it relax. Without a bag or can, I couldn’t transport the snake. And I’d need something to hold the head while I got a better look at the blisters. Daddy had nursed a snake with blister disease once. He’d been angry the snake had gotten in that condition.

  Turned out one of the congregation had taken the snake home and kept it in a damp shed and had brought it back when he noticed the snake getting sick. But instead of letting someone know, he’d put it back with the rest of the snakes.

  Pastor Wolfson kept the snakes segregated, but Daddy said he hadn’t kept the snakes in their own box, but whatever box was handy at the time, so disease had more of a chance of spreading. Daddy’s sick snake
hadn’t been nearly as bad as the blisters on the one in front of me.

  The snake lowered to the ground and stopped shaking its rattle. I took a slow step backward. I couldn’t help it without the right supplies. Since it was so hurt, it wouldn’t get far while I was gone.

  I retreated a few steps before turning around and running back to the house. Once the house was in sight, I slowed and crept forward watching to make sure no one would see me through the windows. I needed to borrow a few things from the shed. If I asked, the answer would be no, so why bother?

  Daddy would want me to heal the snake. That was all the permission I needed. And I didn’t want them to know what I was doing. If Boyd knew, he’d do something to the snake just to be mean.

  I skirted behind the bushes to get to the shed in the back. Once inside, I grabbed a pair of heavy-duty gardening gloves to protect my hands. My cheeks puffed out as I exhaled. I had to find something to use like a snake stick. The Jacksons didn’t have anything close to a snake stick, except the tree trimmer, and I’d clip the poor snake in half with it.

  My gaze fell on a coil of paracord. If I could use the rope to lasso the snake, I could keep it from striking while I nursed its wounds. But trying to use the rope alone would be too difficult, even with a sick snake. I needed something to help me create a noose I could tighten.

  Grady’s shed was full of stuff from home improvement projects and preparing for any and every disaster he could possibly imagine. There had to be something in here I could use.

  PVC pipe would work. Once I had captured the head, I could tie the tail and see what I could do about the sores.

  The thought of trying to dress the blisters while the snake writhed all over the place gave me a weird feeling. Besides, Daddy immobilized the snake he helped with blister disease, so it must be the right thing to do. Did I have everything I needed? I grabbed a couple of rags, in case.

  Wait. I couldn’t nurse the snake back to health if it could slither away while I was gone. Daddy always kept the snakes in cases of some sort. Grady had wood, but it’d take me too long to make a case. I picked through the shed looking for something ... anything I could keep the snake in.

  At the back, piled under a bunch of junk that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years, I saw a cardboard file box. I carefully dug down to the box and lifted the lid. Total score. The box was empty.

  Why would someone keep an empty box buried beneath a pile of junk? I poked air holes around the top of the box with a screwdriver then put a couple in the lid so I could tie it on with some rope.

  Outside the shed, I sneaked back around the house and went to the closest drug store to pick up antiseptic iodine, a plastic tub to use as a bath, antibiotic ointment, and swabs to spread the ointment. Good thing I had my wallet with me. I never left it in my room because Boyd had a bad habit of going through my things. He had stolen some money from me once. Not again.

  I ran back to the creek, having tossed everything into the box. I slowed as I approached the place where I’d last seen the snake. The grasses didn’t move except to sway in the breeze. Standing still, I scanned the area for any sign of movement. Nothing.

  Poor thing. Where was it? If I couldn’t find it, the snake would die. I placed the box on the ground and picked up a stick, prepared to sweep the grasses until I found it. I did one more search looking for the smallest movement. The sun shone and the temperature rose quickly from the morning chill.

  Movement to my left caught my eye. Nothing in the grass. Wait. On the rock. I sighed. Smart snake to know it had to get out of the damp. It might be easier to catch while lying on the rock.

  I transferred the cleaning supplies to the plastic tub, drew on the gloves, and grabbed the box and makeshift snake stick. Silently, I walked toward the rock. When I reached it, I set down the box and made the noose on the end of the stick a little larger. As I held out the stick, my hand shook.

  Nothing to be afraid of. The snake needed help and I was the only one who knew it. I closed my eyes.

  Big mistake.

  Fangs and a wide-open snake jaw filled my head.

  First strike to the face. Next to the throat. Blood oozing from the wounds.

  My eyes flew open. I hadn’t been close enough to a snake to see its scales since Uncle Harlan had locked me in the shed. And before that ... Mama.

  My heart raced and my mouth went dry. Maybe I couldn’t do this.

  Daddy’s voice filled my head. “Snakes are sacred to the Cherokee, Melody. Do a good turn for a snake and you invite good fortune.”

  As always, Daddy calmed me—even when he wasn’t here.

  Tremors still pulsed through my arm, so I took a deep breath. Inch by inch I moved the noose over the snake to position it in front of its head. My stomach tightened with each passing moment. I lowered the noose with care until the rope touched the rock.

  I slid it toward me. The noose slipped over the snake’s head and I pulled the rope snug.

  The snake wriggled as it hung from the stick. I swung it around to the box, dropped the snake in, and slammed on the lid. Tying the top, I listened to the angry rattle inside.

  “This is for your own good. I’m gonna guess someone caught you and kept you locked somewhere damp.” A snake in the wild was a lot less likely to get blister disease because it could move out of the damp area.

  I took it to an abandoned shack in the woods across from the Jacksons’ house. I set the snake box on a shelf and poured the antiseptic iodine into the plastic tub. The shack’s interior was dark with the door closed. I didn’t want anyone to see the open door and come to investigate. With my luck, Boyd would be the one who would see it.

  Would the window give me enough light? The panes were so dirty, the light barely penetrated. I didn’t want to wash the snake’s wounds in the dark. The latch had so much dust and rust it took all my strength to get it to budge. The wood creaked and felt like it might break as I tugged open the window.

  Rays of sunshine flooded in. Thank goodness.

  I loosened the ties on the box, grabbed my snake stick, and readied it for capturing the snake quickly. Once the snake had been captured, I put it in the tub, careful to keep its head away from the antiseptic. Using one of the rags, I washed off the snake’s belly.

  Blistered throughout the entire underside, the skin pulled and was close to bursting where pus filled it. The blisters filled with blood made my stomach churn. The snake writhed as I dabbed, and I was afraid I might burst a blister as it fought against me.

  “I’m sorry. I know it hurts, but it’s to make you well. If I don’t get all the dirt off and clean all the blisters, you’re not gonna get better.”

  After washing off the snake, I put it on the shelf next to the tub and used another rag to blot it dry. I tried to open the antibiotic cream one-handed, but it was impossible with the thick gloves on. I shook my hand until the glove fell off, squeezed the ointment onto the swab, then dabbed it on the infected scales. This part made me squeamish. What if the blister popped and pus spurted onto my hand? Or worse, the bloody ones popping? I shuddered.

  Finished, I put it back into the box. “I’ll see whether I can find a better case for you ... Something with a little light and a little more room to move. But it might take me a while.”

  I secured the top, closed the window, and left.

  April 14, 2012 – Melody, age 13

  While crossing the road, I checked to make sure Boyd wasn’t spying on me. I had caught him following me earlier in the week during one of my after school visits to the snake. Fortunately, the snake had healed enough, so I could probably release it today.

  I opened the door. The snake case laid on its side, door open. No snake.

  My heart pounded. Hoping against hope it would still be inside the shed, I searched the ground and all the shelves. Nothing. And no warning rattle.

  Someone had been here. Only one person was mean enough to steal a sick snake.

  Boyd.

  I ran back to the hou
se and rushed into the kitchen, then skidded to a halt.

  Mrs. Jackson’s hand flew to her throat. “Melody, you scared me.”

  She was scared of her own shadow, so no big surprise.

  “Have you seen Boyd?”

  She pulled a tissue out of her apron pocket and wiped her nose. “I think he’s across the way working on a science project for school.” She tucked the tissue back in her pocket.

  Talk about being completely out of touch with her own child. Boyd never did any homework unless forced to, and never on a weekend.

  I ran back outside, not sure where to look next. And then it hit me. Boyd had a fort he’d built in the woods. Well, calling it a fort was more than it deserved. Ramshackle lean-to that would be blown apart in the first stiff breeze was more like it.

  Instead of going directly there, I skirted the woods so I could surprise Boyd. Using the trees for cover, I snuck in close.

  Boyd hunched over a board on the ground in front of his fort.

  I inched forward and drifted to the side to get a better view.

  Boyd had the snake strapped to a board and used a knife to make small cuts along its body. I shook with anger. How dare he torture it? If I made a noise, Boyd might slip with the knife ... or he might deliberately kill the snake. How could I get him to stop?

  “Boyd? Where’d you get to?”

  Probably the only time in my life I was happy to hear the roar of Grady Jackson’s voice. I’d have a chance to steal the snake back and take it somewhere safe. Hopefully, the wounds weren’t too bad, and I could still release it back to the wild. I couldn’t keep it in the shack anymore.

  Boyd drove the knife into the board next to the snake’s head. “Coming Dad.”

  He rose and dusted his knees off before heading toward the house.

  I let him get past the first line of trees before moving in. When I reached the snake, I covered my mouth with my hand.

  The poor thing. Droplets of blood glistened on its skin and stained the board beneath it.

  Boyd had it tied to the board and I couldn’t get the knot undone, so I pulled the knife out and carefully sawed through the rope at the tail end, making sure I didn’t nick the snake in the process.