Woman Scorned Page 31

  “I hate you,” Josie said, and instantly she was crying. “I’m sorry, but I hate you.” The words came with the taste of tears, and she welcomed them. “I wanted so much to forgive you, but I just can’t. You hurt me too much. You… destroyed me, Charles. You took an innocent, little girl, and you turned her into a hardened, bitch of a woman. And that’s not something I can ever forgive.” Josie bawled for another moment, but she kept her eyes locked on Charles’.

  “I-” he began.

  “Shut up,” Josie whispered, and Charles obeyed. “I’m not going to kill you,” she said, “or torture you in any way. Because that’s not who I am anymore. I’m going to put you back in that stupid box and let you rot there, and I’ll make it so Rhonda doesn’t touch you. That’s the best I can do. In another month or two… maybe a year, I don’t know, something is going to happen that ends this place, and then you can leave, go home and serve a proper punishment. That, too, I’ll make sure of. I’ll have my own crimes to pay for, and we can go on trial together. But I’m done thinking about you for now. That’s your sentence from me. I’m done with you.”

  They stayed that way for several moment longer. Josie’s tears slowly slowed and began to dry, and she realized she’d finally cried for Heather and all the others, and perhaps she’d finally cried properly for herself as well.

  It was Charles who broke the silence. “I’m… sorry. For what it’s worth. I don’t know why I… did those things. I just get so excited sometimes.”

  “You’re a pig,” Josie said simply. “What’s there to understand?”

  She unbuckled him from the ceiling strap and stood, actually vulnerable for a few seconds. “You have to go back in solitary,” she said. “It’s the safest place for you. You’ll go a little crazy, maybe, and I won’t visit you. But you’ll survive.”

  “Okay,” was all Charles said in response. He walked back and crawled inside under his own power, and Josie barely stood on guard in case he tried to run. When the door was locked and bolted she stared for only a few seconds at the food slot. Charles didn’t stick his fingers through it, and Josie didn’t say goodbye.

  When she exited the training arena, she left the door ajar so Rhonda would know it was safe to return, then she went for a long walk of her own.

  She soon found herself outside under the moon and stars. She was standing by the southern gates, staring at the spots of scorched earth. One among them was fresher, blacker, than the rest, and she stared at it more than any other. Someone on guard duty might have seen her there, but would certainly not wonder what was going through her mind.

  When she finally went inside, fresh tears ran down her cheeks and she was sure that a new, larger hole had appeared in what felt like an already blackened heart.

  9

  When she entered her bedroom that night, Josie was shocked to find Stephanie awake and waiting for her. Her friend and roommate had been crying again, Josie saw that immediately, but this time was worse than usual. This wasn’t over her pregnancy, she didn’t think. Something else had happened.

  “Steph?” she said, and Steph swallowed hard before raising a piece of paper in her hand.

  “I found this,” she said. “It was hidden. I… I don’t know how long it’s been there… I just…”

  “Steph?” Josie asked. “What is it? God, you’re really scaring me.”

  “It’s from Lucy,” she said. “I think she’s dead, Josie. I think she’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE MAKING OF GHOSTS

  1

  A man, just a worthless, pitiful, scum-pig of an excuse for life, cowered in his box. He’d been through morning lavatories and spoiled gruel and so many days of torture and running treadmills and the forever sound of the Voice of God and his brain was such a mush of forgotten treasures. He’d been here for years. Surely it was years. He no longer thought of himself as “Mr. ‘C’ ” because “Obe” was the only name he could remember. Sometimes he thought it was the only thing he could remember… except, of course, for that silvery cloud his brother had once shown him. Hell had taken everything else.

  But today there was that special noise. The noise of men being escorted quietly. Politely. There was no shouting, no beating, and no cowering when he peeked out his food slot. He’d seen this many times before, and the men who were selected never came back. He’d always escaped being selected, because he’d always been good. He never broke the rules. He was a good little pig. But no, he was a bad pig. He would always be a pig. One day he would be selected too.

  His door opened and he screamed his fear.

  “Lining!”

  A soft, gentle laugh came and he slid to the back corner of his box. His time had come, and he was so scared. So scared. But he was also happy. There would be no torture now. No pain. No horrible, interminable missing pieces in his head. Today, the wonderful, caring, and loving women who knew better were finally letting him die.

  “Come on out, sweetie,” a woman said. “It’s your lucky day.” He hesitated despite his months of ingrained training. This was knew. They only spoke softly in the torture rooms, and they had certainly never called him that before. It was only ‘pig’ or ‘scum’ or maybe ‘vile, worthless piece of shit’. But never ‘sweetie’.

  He leaned forward into the light.

  “That’s right, Obe. Come on out. It’s okay. Honest.” At this he shuffled out of his box. The women never lied. “Good,” she said when he was standing semi-erect by his door. “Come this way.”

  He followed her past Rhonda’s office, knowing he’d never see the glow of her computer screen again. He wondered how many times his name- his real name- was written there. A fierce longing to stare at the screen, just to see if a real name was visible, came and went in a flash. Then she took him out the door and turned… right. It didn’t make sense. The treadmills were to the left. There was nothing to the right.

  She took him to a door he’d never seen before because he’d always had his head down as commanded, and then she... held it open for him.

  He passed cautiously through it and he caught her smile. “Go on,” she said. “Through there.” She pointed down the hallway to a brightly-lit room that hissed with the sounds of dying men.

  He hesitated only a second and then stepped across the threshold and toward his death.

  2

  Obe opened his eyes. I am a snake, he thought. I am a slithering eel. I am rainwater rolling downhill. His ever-prattling mind, however, insisted something else. Its words hung over him like a cartoonish thought bubble.

  I am scum. I am a pig. My name is Obe like robe, and I deserve to die.

  Fuck off, he willed, and the bubble popped.

  He tried not to think of the GOPHER tag on his jumpsuit. If he showed any resemblance to the fat, lumbering thing now he was dead for sure. The Hillbruhs after all, had expected him to spy for them, and all he’d managed to do was get himself banished before he’d learned a single valuable thing.

  He had chosen the hill with the gentlest downgrade, though it was also the tallest of all those that stretched above the grand ravine. He’d been crouched in the tall grasses at the top of that hill for several hours and daydreaming of his past, waiting for the perfect moment to crawl forward on his belly and toward the gurgling treasure below. His chance had finally come when a man of the Family had arrived to make a trade.

  Lace and his men had emerged from their many hiding places and converged easily on the man. Deek’s giant bulk stood out even in the faint moonlight.

  You cannot see me, Obe thought. You cannot hear me. My body will slip between the blades of grass like the tiniest worm. The reality, of course, was that he bent and crushed the grass in giant waves as he slid headfirst down the hill. He moved slowly, but his progress would nevertheless be obvious to any onlookers. His advantage was that it was night, the moon offered a mere crescent of light, and the Hillbruh gang was currently preoccupied with other endeavors.

  “What’s your pleasure, my frie
nd?” Obe heard Lace’s soft voice ask the visitor. He couldn’t see them through the grasses, of course, and his approach was from the far end of the ravine, but sound carried well on the island, and he heard every word.

  “Two handfuls and my bottle filled,” the Family man said.

  “Don’t you already owe us a bite of fruit?” Obe didn’t recognize this voice, though there were at least five men surrounding the newcomer.

  “I paid that last week. Lace knows.”

  “He’s cool,” Lace said in an equally cool tone. “But he’s getting awful quick to trade again. What’s your game, esé?”

  “No game. Just thirsty is all. Look, you wanna trade or not? I don’t like this place. Gives me the creeps. Women come here all the time. I don’t care if it’s night.”

  “The women are gone,” Deek said in his deep baritone. “Sleeping by now.”

  Obe grasped giant fistfuls of grass at their base and braced himself against their considerable mass. His own mass was light these days, which helped control his descent.

  “We can trade,” Lace said. “But the price just went up. Two handfuls and a bottle’s gonna cost you a whole fruit today.”

  “Fucking bullshit it does!” the Family man yelled.

  “Lower your voice,” Deek commanded, and the man did.

  “You’re insane,” he said in a hushed shout. “That’s double your usual price and triple any fair one. You don’t even work for the damned water! It’s here all the time and there’s an unlimited supply! The Family’s gonna hear about this.”

  Obe was almost halfway down the slope and moving well. His plan, as crude as it was, was working. He still didn’t have much of an exit strategy other than to run out the far end of the ravine, but it was better than nothing, and with a head start it should be all he needed.

  “You think so?” Lace’s voice had changed somehow, and Obe stopped, straining on the clump of grass and dirt he had just grabbed. Was Lace facing his way now? Perhaps inspecting the grasses that spread apart instead of flowing like waves in the wind? Obe held his breath and waited.

  Muskrats can hold their breath for fifteen minutes.

  Who had said that? He’d learned it quite recently. Not a memory from home, then, but the Family man who told it to him had claimed it was one of his.

  “You’re damned right,” the stranger said. “The elders won’t stand for it. We have a peaceful enough truce for fair trades, and we comply despite your unfair prices. This… this is insane and the Family is much larger than you. We already get one bottle of water, and we can survive on it if we need to. But how will you survive without food? Ever think of that Lace? Ever consider how dead you are without us?”

  “Sure,” Lace nearly whispered in his too-soft voice. Obe could picture his face, tattoos almost shining against the contrast of his nearly-bald scalp. He liked to expose his markings to his enemies, Obe realized. Carefully, he relaxed his muscles and allowed his body to slide through the grass once more. “You’ve thought of that, haven’t you, Deek?”

  “Sure I have,” Deek said. “All the time.”

  “All the time,” Lace repeated. Obe could hear the shuffling of their feet and hands as well now. He was closer than he’d wanted to be. Were they walking in his direction? God, if they were he was dead where he lay.

  “But our little friend here hasn’t thought this whole thing through, I think. What’s your name, friend?”

  “Fuck you, that’s my name.”

  Obe smiled and slipped another foot and a half down the hill. He could hear the individual splips of water over individual rocks now. If the grasses hadn’t been there, he would probably have been able to see the arc of their miniature waterfalls.

  Suddenly there was a gurgling that had nothing to do with water.

  “Tiiii…” someone was saying, and Obe realized the outsider was being choked. Jesus! he thought. I have to tell Doov so he-

  But the thought died as quickly as it had come. Doov would not listen to him, of course, and probably wouldn’t care even if he had valuable information to share.

  “Tiiii….” the stranger tried again, struggling through what was certainly Deek’s impossibly strong grip. “…ick,” he finally managed.

  Tick? Obe thought. No! He suddenly remembered the final moments of his fifth and final run before Doov had banished him from the Family of Blue. He’d been exhausted and near death. And then a stranger had jumped from a dumpster and given the driver the finger. Tick had saved his life. Pulled the old double-backer! he’d later explained with some pride.

  “Tick,” Lace was saying. “I like that name. A bloodsucking parasite. Is that what you are, Tick? Do you live off your host and spread disease wherever you go?”

  “No,” Tick croaked through Deek’s powerful hands. “Sorry. I won’t say… won’t say…”

  “Oh, I know you won’t say anything, Tick,” Lace said. “You don’t think he’ll say anything, do you, Goom?”

  Another voice instantly agreed. “No, I don’t think he will.”

  “Yoob,” Lace said. “What do you think?”

  Another voice. Another agreement. “Not a chance.”

  Obe’s hand suddenly breached through the wall of grasses and plunged into open space mere feet above the flowing stream. He pulled back quickly, but not before seeing them all. Tick was wrapped in a child’s headlock in Deek’s arms. His windpipe was caught in Deek’s giant right bicep. Lace stood before them, his head cocked comically to one side as he lorded over his squirming prey. And not three but five men stood around them watching. Tick was more than just outnumbered; he was in the middle of an ambush.

  “No, I don’t think you will,” Lace said. “Deek, show him why he won’t be talking to anyone.”

  A sudden grunting gargle came and Obe realized Lace’s game wasn’t just intimidation, but murder. He spread the final inches of grass apart and peeked out. Deek’s face was puffed with exertion, but Tick’s face was far worse. His mouth hung open and his jaw stretched and yawned. His toes, lifted several inches from the ground, kicked and struggled and swayed. Behind him, one of Lace’s goon’s- it may very well have been the one named Goom- was turning out the contents of Tick’s food bag and showing them to Lace.

  You ever see that movie?

  It was a ghostly sound, a memory. Tick’s happy voice from earlier that day and yet so long ago it seemed like last year. Then a flood of other words came to Obe’s mind.

  That whole ‘pay it forward’ thing... You’d do the same... We’re family... Keep the cycle flowing... We’re family... Pay it forward… We’re family… You’d do the same.

  Obe knew the man would be dead in seconds unless he interceded. Lace’s gang was as ruthless as the Family, if only a little cruder in its methods. Somehow Tick had crossed them, and he was paying for it with his life.

  His croaks softened and Obe realized with a sudden panicky sweat that he needed to move now. There would be no second chance.

  I pulled the old double-backer, his ghost-voice said. Gophers are hard workers… good providers… real family men.

  But Obe didn’t feel like a family man just then. He felt weak and so utterly scared and before he realized it Tick was slumped over in Deek’s strong arms and Obe had done nothing. The big man dropped him and Tick’s body fell with a splash into the cooling, life-giving water.

  “Throw him over the Cliffs of the Moon,” Lace commanded. “And don’t let anyone see you. Goom, Yoob… you two are guards, front and rear.” He paused to look at each of his gang. “Nobody saw this,” he said. “Say nothing. Not to the Cretes, not to other Hillbruhs. You understand?”

  Five voices intoned a singular assent.

  “Now,” Lace finished, “let’s see what’s for dinner.”

  Obe stayed right where he was, less than an arm’s length from the stream that he once thought would save his life. He stayed there until the gang of killers had ascended the surrounding hills and disappeared into the acreage of tall grass. He s
tayed until the wet earth had soaked through his jumpsuit and into his bones and until his heart had slowed and begun to beat with the timing of the stars once more. He stayed until his guilt and his sanity could no longer take the deafening, crashing waves of gurgling water before his eyes.

  Then he stood and did what he had always done best. He ran through the ravine and out the far end. Behind him shouts called and feet splashed, but Obe outran them all. He never got a single handful of water that night, nor did he ever return to the grand ravine or its surrounding hills.

  Yet the knowledge that he’d not repaid Tick’s lifesaving favor returned again and again in his nightmares and in his waking, torturous memory. The worst, however, was the ghostly voice repeating those words of guilt and shame. The ones he heard most often were Tick’s proud claim that muskrats could hold their breath for fifteen minutes.

  3

  The room was so bright his eyes ached. He squinted and grimaced as he shuffled in. It was a huge room with mist hanging in the air. He knew it was the mist of death. A poisonous gas that would soon burn him from the inside out. A strong hissing noise filled the whole place, but then another woman was there to greet him, and she didn’t wear a gas mask so maybe his death would come some other way. Maybe they would torture him to death after all.

  “Hello, darling,” this woman said, and behind him he heard the door to the hallway shut. “Feeling well today?” He only nodded. He couldn’t speak. The mist hanging in the air was thin and hot. It warmed the room. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  “Here, let me help you with those,” she said, and he felt movement at his wrists. “I don’t think we need them anymore, do you?” He looked down and marveled that she was unlocking his shackles with a thick, iron key.