The Shadow of Oz Short

by Jay Michael Wright II

  Her father hung his head and wiped his eyes. “Baby, don't say things like that. When she's like this, that's not her, that's the liquor and her grief talking. One day she'll stop hurting and we'll get your mother back.”

  “It's been nearly fifteen years, dad. I think that ship's done sailed and it's not coming back. Why don't we leave? You and me could be happy. We could get one of those little apartments on the west side of town. I could take care of the house. I'm old enough. And it would have to be better than living here with her.”

  Her father sighed. “Dorothy, I made a vow to love your mother for better or worse, and I plan on keeping my vow. We just can't abandon her. We're all she's got.”

  Dorothy somberly nodded her head as the door creaked open behind her. Dorothy turned and was mortified to see her mother staggering into the room carrying her father's pistol. Oh my fucking God! What is she doing?

  “You can't lie to me, Charles! I know what you're up to!” Her mother could barely walk. She was bumping into furniture, staggering into the walls, propping her weight up on any and everything she could because she couldn't stand on her own.

  Her father pushed Dorothy to the side and stood up. Dorothy had never seen fear in her father's eyes before, but in that moment, his eyes were screaming in terror. “Maggie, just calm down.”

  “Calm down?” her mother laughed. “Oh, I'll calm the fuck down when you admit what you're doing!”

  “I'm not doing anything, Maggie! I was at work so I could pay for this God-forsaken house that you just had to have even though we can't afford it! But to make you happy, I sold my soul to the bank and here we are! Now calm down and give me the gun.”

  Dorothy was frozen. The things going on in front of her, they couldn't be real. This must be a dream—a fucking nightmare. Any moment now she was going to wake up and everything was going to be okay. She said it over and over in her mind, Just wake up! Just wake up already!

  Her father cautiously approached Dorothy's mother with his hand held out. “Come on, baby. Give me the gun.”

  Her mother raised the weapon and pointed it straight at Dorothy's father. The sound of the hammer being pulled back and clicking into place sent chills down Dorothy's spine. Oh my God. This is really fucking happening. This isn't a dream. I'm fucking awake!

  Dorothy slid along the wall, moving as silently as she could, to get out of the room. Once she was behind her mother, she ran for the phone and called 911. It seemed like forever before anyone answered.

  “911. What is your emergency?” a female operator asked.

  “My mom has flipped out and she's pulled a gun on my dad! She's drunk and talking crazy and I think she's going to shoot him!” Those words were so surreal. Just to say them aloud felt like someone sticking an icepick into her brain.

  “Alright, what's your address? I'll send someone right away.”

  Dorothy blurted the whole address out in one quick, sudden burst of breath. “The address is 663 Bryan Road. Please! Fucking hurry!”

  “Yes, ma'am. Now stay on the phone with me until they get there. Can you see what's going on? I don't want you to risk your life, but can you safely tell me what the situation is?”

  “They're arguing in the other room. My father is begging my mother to hand him the gun, but she won't do it. She says she's going to shoot him!” Dorothy began crying. “Oh my God! Will you please hurry!”

  “Ma'am, there's a patrol car in your neighborhood. They should be there any moment now.”

  Flashing red and blue lights filled the room and the sound of a police siren popping off filled the air. Dorothy ran to the door and frantically waved for the two police officers to hurry in. The first one to get to her asked, “Where are they?”

  “In the study! Second door on the left in the hallway.”

  The first officer headed that way quickly followed by the second. As the second officer passed Dorothy he said, “Stay here for your own safety. We've got this.” Dorothy, of course, didn't listen. There was no way she was going to just sit idly by while her father's life was in danger.

  She ran to the doorway and her heart froze. The two officers, with their guns drawn, were doing their best to talk her mother down while her father stood there at the business end of a barrel.

  “Ma'am, you need to put the gun down,” the first officer said.

  “Fuck you!” was her mother's reply. “I know what this asshole did, and he needs to pay for it!”

  The second officer spoke up. While the first officer sounded like he was politely asking, the second officer sounded more like a drill sergeant barking commands. “Ma'am! Put the gun on the fucking ground!”

  For a moment, Dorothy believed her mother was going to comply. Her arm started to slowly drop, but she quickly raised it back up with a fire in her eyes. “No! This is my house! You don't tell me what to do in my house!”

  The second officer replied, “Ma'am, we will shoot you if we have to. So, everybody calm down and let's talk.”

  Her mother started crying and wiped away her tears with her off-hand. Oh thank God. She's going to stop this madness. Her mother's expression suddenly changed, turning cold and unfeeling. She said, “I'm tired of talking,” and fired the pistol twice at her father before spinning and aiming the gun directly at Dorothy.

  For a moment, time stood still. Blood gushed from her father’s throat. Dorothy stared down the barrel of the pistol in her mother’s hands. She thought of Katie as her life flashed before her eyes.

  The room exploded with gunfire. How many shots were there? Five? Six? Dorothy had lost count in all the confusion. Her mother shook like a rag-doll as hot lead tore through her body and she collapsed to the study floor.

  For a moment, the entire world glazed over white. Dorothy was numb, like someone had injected Novocain directly in her soul. She felt absolutely nothing. Nothing was real. Her life. Her mother's corpse lying dead in the floor. The broken glass, like the broken shards of her soul, littering the floor. The blood. All the blood pooling up on the floor. And her father… her father…

  Reality came rushing back and blindsided her like a diesel truck that had run a red light. She heard the first officer call out on his radio, “Shots fired! We need an ambulance at—”

  Dorothy didn't pay attention to the rest. She screamed out, “Daddy!” and tried to run to him, but the second officer had her wrapped up in his arms and was dragged her out of the room. Dorothy clung to the door frame and kicked, scratched, and clawed at the officer to get free.

  “Let me go!” she screamed as the officer finally broke Dorothy's grasp and pulled her away. “Daddy!” she cried out again in a shrill voice, her tears already starting to choke her. She got one last look at her father laying there on the ground, bleeding out from the neck. It would be the last time she ever saw him alive.

  Chapter Eight

  Six Months Later

  Dorothy pushed her way through the crowd of teenagers enjoying their break. Some drank sodas, some had snacks, but none wanted to get in the path of Dorothy when she had a scowl on her face. They had learned long ago, she was not a girl to be trifled with. By the time she had her target in sight, people were moving out of her way. Some glared, some whispered, but no one would dare say a thing out loud to her.

  She grabbed Johnathon Swift, who everyone called Smurf, and yanked him to the side where no one could hear their discussion. “Hey!” Smurf howled. “Easy on the snatchin', girl.”

  Dorothy folded her arms and gave Smurf a look that conveyed her annoyance. She sighed and then whispered, “Look, you've been promising me for a week you'd get what I asked for. Now, do you have it or not?”

  Smurf looked around nervously and stalled for time. Dorothy clenched her fists and fought the urge to bust Smurf straight in the mouth. Eventually, Smurf blurted out, “Look, what you want is some heavy fucking shit. My brother's a drug dealer, but he doesn't deal with that kind of product, but he's trying.”

  Dorothy hissed, “Well, what do you have?�
�

  Smurf started rummaging through his pockets. “I've got some weed.”

  Dorothy rolled her eyes. “That shit isn't anywhere near strong enough. What else you got?”

  Smurf sighed and kept digging through his pockets. “I've got some pain pills, Somas, and Klonopins, but I'm almost out.”

  Dorothy dug into her backpack and took out a wad of cash. “How much for the lot of them?”

  Smurf's eyes got huge. “You want them all?”

  Dorothy wrinkled her brow. “Did I stutter, bitch?”

  Smurf turned his back to the crowd so no one could see what he was doing. He fetched out a handful of pills and counted them up. “For everything I've got...forty-five dollars.”

  Dorothy snatched the pills out of Smurf's hand and threw her money on the ground. “There! Now tell your brother I want that smack by next week, or I'm going to take my business someplace else.”

  Smurf hollered, “Hey!” and started picking the wadded-up bills off the ground. Dorothy walked away with her middle-finger held up high for everyone to see. She didn't care who she pissed off. She hadn't cared about that in fucking months. Not since… that night.

  The school bell rang, signaling that it was time for the students on break to go to homeroom and for the other half of the student body to take their break. Dorothy quickly fished the old, empty medicine bottle she carried in her pocket and filled it with her new bought stash of pills. She couldn't wait to get home so she could numb herself to the world around her.

  Dorothy followed the pack back into the school. As she passed the lunchroom, she heard someone call her name. “Dorothy Gale.”

  Oh fuck.

  It was Mrs. Hamilton, the school counselor. Dorothy knew the woman had good intentions, but most days she just wished the lady would leave her the fuck alone. Maybe if she kept walking and pretended she didn't hear her, Mrs. Hamilton would just let it go.

  “Dorothy Gale! I am talking to you!”

  Damn it. No such luck. Dorothy froze in place and rolled her eyes before she turned around to face the annoyingly persistent counselor. She sighed, “Yes, Mrs. Hamilton?”

  Mrs. Hamilton, who was quite young for a teacher, stood there with her arms folded and gave Dorothy a suspicious look. “I need to speak to you in my office, Dorothy. Now.”

  Fuck! She didn't see me buy these pills, did she? That's the last thing I fucking need right now.

  Most of the school considered Mrs. Hamilton the “cool” administrator of the school. And why wouldn't they? She was only about five years older than most of the students. She was young, pretty, and even had been cutting edge enough to wear a Nirvana t-shirt to a pep rally one day. Dorothy really didn't have anything bad to say about the woman. She just wished the bitch would get off her back.

  “Now, Dorothy,” the counselor said in a sterner tone.

  Dorothy didn't like it, but she didn't have much of a choice. She followed Mrs. Hamilton up the stairs and to her office. Mrs. Hamilton opened the door for Dorothy and Dorothy walked in and tossed her backpack on the floor before plopping down unceremoniously in a chair.

  The room was tiny. There was barely enough room between Mrs. Hamilton's desk and the wall for people to get by, but the counselor slipped through and took a seat across from Dorothy. There was a long silence and Dorothy caught herself engaged in a stare-down with the only administrator in the entire school that ever acted like she gave a fuck about her at all.

  Mrs. Hamilton sighed and pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail before she leaned back in her chair. “Dorothy, what am I going to do with you?”

  Dorothy, of course, played innocent. “Whatcha talkin' 'bout?”

  Hamilton pursed her lips and replied, “Dorothy, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. What was this about you getting into a shouting match in history class today?”

  Dorothy sighed in relief. Oh, thank God! Is that what all this is about? “Oh that? That was nothing. Inconsequential. A momentary lapse of reason.”

  Mrs. Hamilton didn't seem to be buying it. “Really? Because according to Mr. Phillips, you made quite a scene. So why don't you tell me what that was about?”

  Dorothy clenched her fist and felt her face turn hot. Just the thought of what had been said to her made her blood boil. “It was Daniel Ivy.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He said something about my parents being dead.”

  Mrs. Hamilton covered her mouth and looked absolutely appalled. “My God! I'm sorry, Dorothy. Why didn't you report him?”

  Dorothy laughed sarcastically. “Yea, already tried that, or don't you remember? I came to the office to report Tim Henderson for making fun of my mother being shot by the police and what happened? I was told 'kids like to tease.' I was told to just grow up and learn how to handle it! So, yea, my faith in this school's concern for my well-being is sadly fucking lacking!”

  Mrs. Hamilton's eyes glared with disapproval. “Dorothy! You know I let you get away with a lot when we talk, but please, control your language.”

  Dorothy sat back and felt a bit ashamed. Mrs. Hamilton was a pain in the ass, but at least she cared. “Sorry.” Dorothy whispered softly.

  “So, Daniel said something about your parents. What did you do in response?”

  Dorothy knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help but smirk. Her smile grew as she said, “I called him a cocksucking thundercunt, and knocked his books off his desk.”

  Mrs. Hamilton lowered her gaze and shook her head. “Dorothy, you just can't do things like that.”

  “And just what am I supposed to do?” Dorothy blurted out. “This whole school knows my mother murdered my father! I get it thrown in my damn face every single fucking day! And if it's not their words, it's their eyes. I've been a fucking outcast since I moved into this town and nobody gives two shits or a fuck about me!”

  Her counselor looked almost ready to cry. “Dorothy, you know I'm here to help you and that I care.”

  Dorothy rolled her eyes. “It's a lot easier to say than to do. So, unless you're going to escort me around the school, I honestly don't see how you're helping me.”

  Mrs. Hamilton sighed. “Dorothy, I've been trying to counsel you since you came here, but you won't talk to me about what happened. How am I supposed to help you if you won't let me?”

  Dorothy sat back and folded her arms. “Maybe I don't want your fucking help.”

  The counselor paused and then asked, “And what about that 'problem' you had at the first of the semester? You aren't doing that anymore, are you?”

  Dorothy lied through her teeth with a straight face. “Of course not.” Dorothy thought it was an Oscar worthy performance, but Mrs. Hamilton saw right through her bullshit. She was annoyingly good like that.

  “Dorothy… I don't believe you.”

  Dorothy wrinkled her brow. “Why? What makes you think I'm lying?” That’s it girl. Just keep lying. Tell the bitch what she wants to hear and get the fuck out of here.

  “Well, the fact that it's 90 degrees outside and you're wearing long sleeves. There's only one reason I can think why you'd do that. I hate to do this, but… roll up your sleeves, Dorothy.”

  Dorothy folded her arms and shook her head. “No. You can't make me.”

  “Dorothy! Either you roll up your sleeves or you're going to force me to call in social services to get you help.”

  Dorothy almost jumped out of her chair. “No! You can’t do that!”

  “Dorothy, if your Aunt Em and my grandmother weren't such good friends, I would have already called them. I should have called them the first time I knew what you were doing. So, roll up your sleeves or…”

  Dorothy panicked. She knew what the response was going to be, but there was no way around it. As much as she hated it, she sighed and rolled up her sleeves and held out her arms to be seen.

  Mrs. Hamilton gasped. “Oh my God, Dorothy! How long have you been cutting again?

  Dorothy hung her head and rolled her sleeves back down. “A couple of wee
ks.” she said somberly.

  “Why, Dorothy? We had made so much progress!”

  Dorothy felt herself shriveling away as she sat in that chair. It was hard to think, hard to speak. It was like her energy was bleeding out all over the floor. Eventually, she whispered, “It was my father's birthday two weeks ago.”

  Mrs. Hamilton leaned back in her chair and her eyes became sympathetic. “Dorothy, why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you deal with this.”

  Dorothy stood up and picked up her bag. “Sorry, Mrs. Hamilton, but nobody can help me with this. This is my Hell—no one else's. Now, can I go back to class, or are we going to keep talking in circles?”

  The counselor looked solemn and sighed. “Alright. But Dorothy, if I catch you cutting yourself again—I will call in social services for your own good. I really think you need professional help to deal with what happened six months ago.”

  Dorothy started out the door but turned at the last moment and said, “Like I said, nobody can help me, but thanks for being stubborn enough to try.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dorothy flung the empty whiskey bottle off the cliff and burst into laughter as it smashed against the rocks below. She laughed so hard, she nearly tripped and fell down the hillside herself. She didn't know exactly what it was about mixing Klonopin with whiskey, but she definitely fucking liked it. It made her laugh. It made her numb. It made her forget about all the reasons she wanted to die.

  She walked alongside the hill like she was walking a high-wire in a circus. With each step she risked falling down into the ravine, a good fifty foot drop she guessed. It was probably enough to break her neck—if she was lucky.

  Toto nipped at Dorothy's heels. He playfully scratched at her ankle and nibbled on her sock. It tickled. “Toto, quit!” she giggled before collapsing into a fit of laughter.

  Dorothy stared down at the jagged rocks beneath her. She carefully stood up and got as close to the edge as humanly possible, letting her toes dangle completely unsupported as she swayed forward and backwards, tempting fate with her every heartbeat. Toto barked his concerns, but Dorothy ignored him.