On the Edge of Dangerous Things (Dangerous Things Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

Swing the hammer high. Bring it down into the smooth, flat skin between those breasts. Swing the claw end into the pink thong, the pubic hair, and finally into that face, that beautiful angel face.

Hester had loved Nina, had believed, until now, Nina loved her too. Hester must have been wrong. The hammer burned in Hester’s hand; she wanted to hurt the girl, again, and again, and again.

Four

Hester must’ve blacked out for a second. Then she heard Al groan. His eyes opened. He stared at the girl.

“Nina, are you alright?” His voice was weak.

For a split second, Hester was relieved to hear him say something, but in the next instant, she was overcome by the impulse to smash his head in. She could’ve gotten away with it, made it look like a concrete lawn ornament had flown through the air and landed on his skull, maybe one of the silly miniature leprechauns that populated the O’Neals’ patio or Gerri Trainer’s oversized smiling duck. It could’ve happened.

“No, she’s not, you fool.” Hester was looking at Nina, at her thin neck arched like a swan’s. Her hands were upturned; her fingers curled inward, their long, narrow nails like white-tipped claws. Hester started crying.

Al winced with pain and tried to turn toward Nina. He couldn’t, so he stopped. His eyes met Hester’s before he glanced down at her breasts and saw the one caked with dried blood and stared at it.

“How dare you?” Hester bent over to lock eyes with him.

He rolled his head to turn away. “What are we going to do?” He whined like a baby.

“There is no ‘we’ anymore.”

“Hester, please? I’m hurt.”

“Too bad.” Hester smeared her tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands.

Al grimaced, rolled his head back to look at her, and begged, “I can’t move. Please? Hester? Goddamn it, call an ambulance.”

“I think she’s dead, Alexander,” Hester said distinctly. It didn’t matter. Her words had fallen on deaf ears, Al was unconscious again.

Hester pressed the palm of her hand against her hot forehead. Al’s slack face had a frown on it. Lately, he always seemed to be frowning.

Was it displeasure? With her? She tried to get what was wrong out of him, but he insisted nothing was wrong, barking at her, “It’s all in your head, Hester, so quit bugging me about it, will you?”

Hester leaned close to the frowning face and whispered, “Do you hear me, Al, you son-of-a-bitch? I think she’s dead!” She threw the hammer on the floor. Roused by the thud, Al moaned, “Did you call the ambulance?”

“No, so shut up.” Hester turned and walked to the dresser. She took a towel out a drawer and began wiping herself off.

Al watched her. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“What I have to.”

“Hester, listen to me…”

“No, you listen to me,” she spat out. She never spoke to him like this, in this harsh tone of voice. She turned her back to him and reached down to wipe the insects and dirt off her legs, and realized he had a full view of her buttocks and between her slightly spread legs, he would see her breasts hanging like small white eggplants. Quickly, she spun around to face him.

“Do you think I want everyone to find out about you and her? Do you think I want this all over the park? You’ve spoiled everything. I don’t care about you. I’m looking out for myself now.” Even as she said it, she knew she was lying, knew what she was about to do would be for Al, too. If no one found out about what happened, they could go on as before, and at the moment that seemed to be the only thing Hester could bear.

She grabbed a clean bathing suit from another drawer and stepped into it. She struggled to pull it up.

              “But, Hester….” Al was watching her while she reached in and settled each breast in its foam cup.

“But, Hester, nothing. I’m not talking to you anymore. Just lay there and suffer.”

As if on cue, he was unconscious again and that was for the best. The less Al knew, the easier it would be for her.

She had to think of something to do with Nina’s body.

Beyond the partially collapsed wall, the top of the long gash on the Bo tree was visible. It gave Hester an idea. She hurried outside to examine the damage. The weight of the top-heavy branches had severed the trunk down to the roots, pulled them out of the ground, and left a shallow four by five-foot hole—big enough for a body.

Hester checked to make sure no one was around. It was early in the season, and the few people who were in the park were probably in the community center trying to organize the cleanup. Still, she decided to wait until dark to bury Nina.

Hester had never touched a dead body before, except at a wake, when sometimes she felt obliged to kiss a stone-cold forehead. And now she would have to touch Nina’s dead body. She looked down at her former student, her skin had lost all color and looked like white jade streaked with sap. Hester’s rage subsided. Minutes ago she wanted so badly to hurt Nina, but now she felt sick at losing her. Whatever happened wasn’t this child’s fault, because that’s what she still was, a mere child. Hester could see that now, and she would bury her as decently as she could.

She went into the bathroom, got the bucket from under the sink, filled it with hot soapy water, and grabbed a washcloth and towel. She came out of the bathroom and bent over Nina. The musky odor of her body mixed with a putrid smell coming from her open mouth. Hester pushed her chin up and closed it. Then she dipped the cloth in the sudsy water and wrung it out. She smoothed Nina’s hair back off her forehead. It shocked Hester that Nina’s eyes were open. She didn’t shut them. That would seem too final. Gently, she washed the girl’s face, neck, and shoulders. Nina’s breasts jiggled when Hester cleaned around them and ran the cloth over her nipples. With her other hand, Hester pressed down where Nina’s heart was. Could her touch spark a pulse? Bring Nina back to life? No, the girl’s body was slowly turning colder.

Hester wiped Nina’s flat stomach and her legs. A pool of urine and stool spread out beneath the body so Hester rolled it on its side. The stench made her gag, but she pulled off the pink thong and threw it on the floor. Nina’s rear end curved out from her spine into two firm mounds. Hester washed the filth off her, then rolled her back onto a clean spot and washed between her thighs, the back of her calves, her feet, between each toe.

Hester worked methodically. After she rinsed Nina with clean, hot water, Hester got her best lotion from under the sink and rubbed it into Nina’s skin hoping the scent of verbena would overpowered the smell of death. It didn’t. She brushed the knots out of Nina’s thick mane of hair. Hester was getting tired so she sat on the bed next to Nina and reached out to pat her calf. She felt the soft stubble. She reached up and touched one of Nina’s stubborn curls and twisted it around her finger. A sob caught in Hester’s throat.

Don’t cry,
she told herself. She’d lose it if she started to cry again. Hester slipped from the bed, knelt down, bowed her head, and whisper a Hail Mary. When she finished and looked up, she saw Al’s profile beyond Nina’s and…

Hester begged the Blessed Virgin to intercede, to stop her from doing something horrible to Al. Then a strange thought came into Hester’s head, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from getting up, from sitting beside Nina again, taking her in her arms, and doing something she never should have done. It was as though it were all a dream. Hester felt she was floating somewhere above watching someone else do such an unthinkable thing.

After a while Hester left Nina on the bed next to Al, who was still unconscious. She went and got two jumbo plastic trash bags. She straddled Nina’s body to lift her legs into one bag. She pulled it up to the girl’s chest. Then before she put the other bag over Nina’s head, she tried to smooth Nina’s hair away from her face, but it wouldn’t stay. Hester was losing her nerve. Quickly, she pulled the bag down. It was done.

She rolled Al on his side, pulled the sheets out from under his dead weight, and shoved them into the top bag over Nina’s breasts and face. She got Al’s duct tape and wrapped it a dozen times around where the bags overlapped.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hester saw Al squirm. The sudden motion scared her, but when he didn’t open his eyes, she ignored him. She was on automatic pilot and started humming while she rolled Nina’s body off the bed and dragged it by the feet into the spare bedroom. She rolled it under the guest bed and pushed it as far back as she could.

“Alexander,” she shouted into the next room, “I’m going to call the ambulance now.”

He didn’t answer. She went in and shook him.

“What?” His voice was weak.

“I’m going to call the ambulance.”

He turned his head to look at the empty spot where Nina had been. “Where is she?”

“She’s fine.” The lie rolled off Hester’s tongue. Keeping the truth from Al made her feel like she had some control over him, and right now, as on several occasions in the past, she knew her whole future depended on that.

“Good.” He struggled to open his eyes. He was squinting in the sunlight. He lifted his head as high as he could to face Hester. “Hester, look, I…”

“Don’t waste your breath, Al.” She stood at the foot of the bed with her arms folded across her chest and her feet spread apart, a pathetic Colossus.

“It’s not what you think.” Al was so weak, he dropped his head back onto the mattress and closed his eyes. When he rallied, he enunciated each syllable of what he had to say. “I was not having sex with Nina. My God, Hester, I would nev—”

“Shut up, Al! Just shut the hell up!” Hester took a step toward him and dropped her hands into tight fists.

“Hester, I did not do anything wrong! For God’s sake, ask Nina, she’ll tell you the truth.”

Now what? Hester hadn’t figured out what she would say about where Nina was or what had happened to her. She turned away from Al, walked toward the foot of the bed, and said sarcastically, “Go ask Nina? Right, like she wouldn’t lie to me, too.”

“She doesn’t have to lie. I tell you, nothing happened between us.” Saying it took the last of his strength. Al shut his eyes and grimaced.

Hester was on the verge of screaming, but she didn’t. She wanted to hit Al, hurt him, but his mouth dropped open. He was out of it. She collapsed onto the floor, hugged her knees to her chest, and lowered her head.

Five

A long while passed before Hester pulled herself together and got on her feet again. She noticed the pink thong. Picked it up and, dirty as it was, shoved it in the back of her underwear drawer. She had to tend to Al. He was completely unconscious, like a rag doll. Putting his swim trunks on him made her sick to her stomach. She resisted the temptation to get a knife and cut his balls off. She called the ambulance.

Hester didn’t know Dee all that well yet, but she was exhausted and needed help to face the EMT’s so Hester called her on her cell. It was getting dark and the electricity was still out. Dee came over, lit all the candles Hester had in the house, set them on the coffee table, and insisted on clearing the debris in the hallway. The ambulance didn’t arrive for an hour—there were worse cases inland, and the bridge over the Intracoastal was closed. The squad leader questioned her about Al, and why she’d taken so long to call them. The storm swept through the park over eight hours ago. Hester lied, said her husband was wide awake the whole time and refused to let her call. She left him for a minute to go to the bathroom and was shocked when she came back and found him unconscious. She tried, honestly she did, but she couldn’t get him to wake up.

It was after eight by the time they were ready to transport Al to the hospital for a severe concussion, some broken ribs, maybe a slight heart attack. They’d know more once they examined him at the hospital.

Hester watched them strap him onto the gurney. She shoved his health insurance cards into her old passport holder, looped it over his head, and stepped back. No way was she going to the hospital with him. The men who were ready to hoist the stretcher into the rear of the ambulance hesitated, and one of them looked at her oddly. She forced herself to go to Al, lean over, and kiss him on the forehead.

“You’ll be alright, honey. I’ll see you later.” The words caught in her throat. She had no intention of going anywhere to see him. Not now, maybe never again; but despite her anger and disgust, she hadn’t wanted to raise suspicion. She was angry with Al, but her life, the one she wanted, depended on him. If anyone else had found Nina and Al like that…

Hester should’ve never invited Nina to Florida. She should’ve seen the whole thing coming, knowing how weak her husband was. But Hester believed she was like a mother to Nina, helping her was the right thing to do. So how did it turn into such a nightmare? Nina dead, Al to blame.
Thank God, I got here first, the park’s half empty, no one gives a damn what’s going on at 23 Fish Tail Lane.

After the ambulance drove away, Hester almost said something to Dee about all that had gone wrong, but she didn’t. Instead she asked Dee to leave.

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Dee hugged her. Hester was touched by this gesture from someone she only recently met, and Dee had said the one thing Alexander Bruno Murphy, in his moments of lucidity, hadn’t.

Sorry…I’m so sorry.

Yes, the whole day and the whole night would go down now and forever for Hester as sorry. Everything Hester had counted on her entire adult life had almost been wiped out. Before, whenever Hester learned of one of Al’s mistakes, she forced herself to bury the knowledge of it in a dark corner of her brain. This worked for a while, but eventually each memory sought light and air, and popped up into her consciousness again like a real living thing. The memory of what Al had done had to be constantly weeded out before it could grow and choke her heart to death. Hester had to live in strict denial of many occurrences if she wanted to remain married to Al, and being married to Al Murphy was, since the first day she met him, all she ever wanted.

As much as it would give Hester some relief to unburden herself to someone like Dee, she knew she couldn’t. She could trust no one with this latest knowledge.

It was past nine o’clock when Dee went back to her trailer. The candles had burned so low, they sat in their pools of wax, watching her like a field of winking yellow eyes. Hester blew them out and decided to wait in the darkness to finish what was left to do. She sat on the sofa facing in the direction of the ocean. If she were to sit there during the day, through the slider beyond old Chet’s trailer, she could see one small square of the Atlantic. The sound of the pounding waves reached her. The sea was in a fury that had not yet subsided. Not since her freshman year in college had she felt this low or this scared. It was the only other time her life intersected so intimately with death. Dredging up that old nightmare might paralyze her, and she couldn’t stop now. The worst was left to do.

She thought instead of Edna Pontellier, the heroine of Kate Chopin’s
The Awakening
. She’s on the beach alone in the moonlight. She takes off her “unpleasant” and “pricking” garments, throws them down, and walks out into the waves. The water feels colder on her naked body then she expected, colder still the farther out she goes. Though she’s so cold, she doesn’t stop. She keeps struggling until she knows she’s in too deep to turn back. She should try to save herself, but she doesn’t. She gives into the sea and lets it take her under, swallow her up.

Edna tried to make her marriage work, played the happy housewife, and it’d gotten her nowhere. Death was better than waiting for the love that would forever be denied her. Death was better than living a lie one moment longer. The hopelessness, the character’s utter despair tied Hester’s stomach in knots the first time she read the novel, and now again as she recollected it.

Hester was so god-awful sick of lies, believing them, telling them. It didn’t matter which. She was sick of going along to get along. She didn’t know anymore what exactly would make her happy, what she wanted from life, why she was even on this earth.

The night before, Hester had gone into the guest room after Nina was asleep. The air was cool, and she wanted to make sure Nina was warm enough. She pulled the blanket up over the girl’s bare shoulder. Nina stirred and turned her head enough for Hester to notice the gentle curves in the topography of her perfectly shaped ear. Hester thought,
delicate, like a child’s, like my child’s would’ve been.

What made sense a few hours ago to Hester, now seemed insane. But it was already too late to do what she should’ve done, call for help, turn everything over to the authorities. What would she say now? “Oh, by the way, I forgot to report that there is a young dead woman in my trailer, I found her naked in my bed next to my naked husband, I think her neck was broken, and I stuffed her in plastic bags and hid her body.”

If she did call them now, with their advanced technology it would be no problem for the police to figure out exactly what happened. Hester had watched enough
CSI
shows to know they would find Al’s DNA, and her DNA, all over Nina. They’d probably find his sperm too.

Sperm? Hester couldn’t bear the thought of anyone finding out Al had sex with Nina. She wouldn’t be able to bear the humiliation if anyone ever knew. Damn it, she should not have stuffed the filthy sheets in the bag with Nina’s body. She should’ve waited and, when they’d dried, burned them. That would’ve been the only way to get rid of all of the evidence, for good. Too late now. She couldn’t fathom opening up those bags, reaching in, pulling them out. Maybe seeing Nina’s dead face again. No, it wasn’t a good idea, but the lapse in her thinking gave her a sharp stab of doubt and made her more anxious than she already was. And then there was that pink thong…
they’d put us both in jail.
She shivered at the possibility, but try as she did, she couldn’t remember what she’d done with the pink thong?

Then she thought,
what if Al wasn’t lying? What if he didn’t do anything to Nina? What if nothing was his fault?

Hester sat up straight. There was a thread of hope, and that made her feel slightly better, slightly less hateful toward Al.

Better I act like nothing happened
, she told herself,
because I may never know what really happened.

Hester got up from the sofa, walked to the hall closet, grabbed Al’s shovel, and slouched toward the spare bedroom.