Authors: Chad Huskins
Psycho Save Us (13 page)
Now, Pat’s smile
had died. He’d wanted to hear about a pig getting fucked up, and he’d gotten
it.
Only it’s not exactly what he thought he’d hear
, Spencer thought.
A
couple of punches, maybe
.
A knee to the groin
.
Maybe a broken
limb or somethin’
.
But not a face bitten off
.
Not a finger that
I meant to swallow an’ a nose that I did
.
But what Spencer
had left out was a thing he felt not even Pat could endure, because most people
couldn’t. After all, how does one explain that the more he bit and tore at the
police officer’s face, the more aroused he’d become? And how would Spencer be
able to explain—and make Pat understand—how he’d come in his pants during the
beating the cops gave him. He’d relished it, every knuckle and boot heel that
smashed against his body.
Pat took a sip
of his beer, and said, “I bet they—fucked—you—
up
, didn’t they?”
“A tweaked elbow
and a dislocated shoulder that got fixed up courtesy o’ the taxpayers,” he
said, chuckling. “Otherwise, just some cuts an’ bruises. Some bleeding, of
course. Nothing that didn’t heal up completely in two months.”
“An’ then?”
Spencer looked
up at him. “Then, what?”
Pat reached out
and smacked Spencer’s knee. “Don’t leave me in suspense, nigga! I axed you
about Leavenworth? What happened when ya got in the
joint
, playa? How
the
fuck
did you get outta there?”
“That’ll require
another cold one,” Spencer said, holding out his hand.
Pat sighed, and
gave a knowing smile. He reached into the miniature fridge and plucked another
Bud out, tossed it at him, and fixed him with a look that said
No more
bullshit
.
“They said I
found a weakness in the fence, a minor hole that’s since been covered up, and
that I snuck away in the night, got picked up by some friends waiting for me
nearby, and we drove off.”
Pat nodded.
“But that ain’t the whole troof, is it?”
“No. You want
the
whole
truth?”
“Fuh sho,
money. That’s what I been askin’ this whole fuckin’ time!”
Spencer popped
the lid off his beer, wincing again at the
snap-pop-hiss
, and took a
sip. He enjoyed the buzz he was getting for a moment, then lowered the bottle
and said, “I walked out.” He took another sip, and savored the look of
disbelief on Pat’s face as he stared at him over the bottle. He lowered it,
smacked his lips, and sighed.
This is the life
.
“You walked
out,” Pat said skeptically.
“That’s right,”
Spencer said. “Right out the front fuckin’ door.”
“Bullshit.”
“It gets even
better.”
“Yeah? How?”
Spencer smiled.
“They opened it for me.” He couldn’t help it anymore. He laughed so hard he
nearly pissed himself. For a moment, for just one instant, he thought he heard
children screaming. And he thought he heard them close by, although their
screams were muffled, like they had something in their mouths. It interrupted
him for maybe only a second, and the sounds were gone. Probably just the
drills in the shop going to work.
When the first gunshot
went off, it jolted Kaley, who had gasped an instant before it happened because
she felt it coming. She
had
felt it coming. That sickening
anticipation, like having to go number two but having to hold it. It hurt.
The anticipation hurt everything inside her. The others hadn’t known it was
coming, but the burly, lusty white man with the crimson bear tattoo had known.
It had been his plan all along.
First, there was
loud, rancorous bickering just down the hall. Lots of raised voices. Adrenaline
surged through her. It was the adrenaline of the dying. Each gunshot hammered
in her head and in her heart. She felt the fear of the others who were taking
the bullets. She also felt their pain, and the sinking knowledge that they
were going to die.
Glass and
furniture crashed. There was the sound of heavy objects hitting the floor.
Bodies
, she knew.
Kaley started
yanking and pulling at her cuffs throughout this madness. She jerked and
pulled and wrenched against her bonds until they bit into her wrists and
brought blood.
A few minutes
ago Shannon had lowered her head, closed her eyes, and looked ready for sleep.
That’s good
.
Let her sleep
, Kaley had thought. She needed it.
The gunshots
jolted Shannon awake. The Little Sister Terror that Kaley now felt was at a
crescendo. She was taking it all in again—the dark room, the cluttered floor,
the ceiling fan on its most sluggish setting and the Marilyn Manson poster on
the far wall—and was recalling with startling clarity where she was and what
sort of predicament they were in.
The Little
Sister Terror made Kaley dizzy, nauseous, and she almost blinked out.
Four more
gunshots followed, along with screaming.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
BANG-BANG-BANG!
“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck y—!” Another shot fired and
silenced that screamer forever. Somebody else started begging. “No, man…no,
no, no, please, dawg, no, man,
NO!
”
Somehow, that
last bang had finality. The period at the end of a long, angry sentence.
Kaley sat there,
panting. She smelled something. Faintly, she was aware that Shan had peed
herself again. She looked over at her little sister, saw that she was looking
up at the ceiling with tearful eyes.
She’s asking God for help
. Kaley
didn’t feel that, she just knew. They didn’t go to church very often, just
whenever Mom sent them to Aunt Tabitha’s. Aunt Tabitha always made sure the
girls had nice clothes to go see the Reverend, and though Shannon was very
small (or, perhaps,
because
she was so very small), she understood that
some powerful being was “up there” somewhere, and was supposed to be a just and
considerate Lord that protected the weak and punished the wicked.
We need that
kind of help
.
Oh God, help us! Help us, please! Send your best angel!
Then, she
felt something twist inside her guts, she felt the violent yet joyful emotions
of the white man down the hall, triumphant now with the final shot fired.
No,
send your worst! Send the ugliest fucking one! Help us!
A minute went
by. She heard nothing else from anywhere in the house. Not a footstep. Not a
television. Nothing.
They’re dead
, she thought.
They’re
all dead except the tattooed white man
. Kaley knew it was true.
The
black man who put the gun to my sister’s head and threatened to kill her is
dead
. There ought to have been satisfaction in that thought but there
wasn’t. There should have been because, strange as it was, they were now
trapped with the creature so abnormal the others had repudiated him.
Like two dogs
fighting over a bone
.
And we’re the bone
.
She heard
talking. It was the burly white man, talking to himself. Or, no, probably not
to himself. Probably on the phone with someone. His voice approached, and
when the door flung open and Oni came inside with that wife beater of his
bloodied and his brow glistening with sweat in the moonlight, both Kaley and
Shannon froze. It was probably something ingrained in every animal.
Don’t
move, and the monster won’t see you
.
Oni flipped on
the light switch with his gun barrel—it was some kind of silver pistol that
Kaley didn’t recognize—and he held a cell phone to his ear with his other hand.
“
Harosho
.
Da, harosho
,” Oni was saying, glancing at the two girls and checking on
them the way he might a pair of dogs, worried that the fracas between humans
would’ve caused them to thrash against their bonds and kill themselves. “
Ya
tebya penimayu
.
Da
.
Da
.” He walked right over to girls and
leaned over them. Both Kaley and Shannon now tried to roll out of his way, but
their hands were firmly secured to the space heater. He parted the curtains
above Kaley’s head with his gun and said, “
Shto?
Net, net
.
Ya
pozvonyu tebe pozdnee
.”
What language
was that? Russian? German? It certainly didn’t sound like French or Spanish,
at least no kind that Mrs. Moore at English Avenue Middle School had ever
taught.
Kaley felt
something swell inside her. It wasn’t the lust from the white man. No, that
had been replaced by his need for survival. And that was what she felt. He
looked panicked. His eyes were wide and wild, darting here and there, talking
rapidly to someone over the phone and mostly ignoring the girls at his feet.
Why
be concerned with us? We’re nothing
.
Less than human
.
We’re a
…
a
…
She searched for
the word Mrs. Holloway used in advanced economics.
A commodity
.
We’re
something to hold onto, an investment
. Yes, they were something that
accrued worth over time, something to barter with, but something that would
depreciate over time if not handed off quickly.
A hot commodity
.
“
Da, neplokho
,”
Oni was saying. He checked his watch. “
Chas? Da. Do vstrechi
.” He
hung up, and looked down at her. “You stay calm now. We leave soon.” He put
his cell phone in his side pocket. “I be back with keys.” He left the room
and was gone for over a minute. During that time Kaley tried to send some
feedback to Shan via her charm, since she could reach her to hug her or just be
close to her. Kaley tried to send reassurances, but nothing was getting
through. Shan was alternately whimpering and sobbing, and wouldn’t (or
couldn’t?) look at her sister.
When Oni
returned, he did indeed have the keys to the handcuffs. He knelt in front of
Kaley and said, “You try to run, I kill her.” The same basic threat that the
black guy had given her. “Nod.” Her head felt like it was filled with
cement. She nodded so sluggishly, still hating herself for not listening to
the charm like Nan had told her to do so many times before.
I called her
crazy once to her face
, she recalled. And she remembered the hurt
expression on Nan’s face. It hurt to recall that expression. Then she
recalled Nan’s last words to her: “Oh, chil’…you got a lotta
hurt
comin’
yo way…good luck…”
Satisfied that
his threat had been respected, Oni undid Kaley’s handcuffs, and then
immediately snatched her up by her twisted hair and flung her to the floor.
Her head still hurt from where he’d torn hair out when she tried to escape. Kaley
had forgotten about that until now.
Shan was even easier
to deal with. Oni made the same threat to her (“If you fucking fight me, or
try run, I kill sister,
da
?”), and got a weak nod. Kaley watched as her
sister’s bonds were undone and she was lifted off the floor. She was so limp
she looked like she was a cripple.
I know how she feels
. Their shared
experience—shared both in reality and via the charm—had made Kaley’s legs weak
as water.
“Outside,” said
Oni, a villain unlike any the White Ninja had ever had to face in his long and
storied career.
The two sisters
both struggled to their feet, helping each other up—Kaley helping Shannon
mostly—swaying uneasily on their way to the door. She thought her little sister
would have to wait to see a dead body—Kaley had only been to one funeral
herself, and she had been so young she almost didn’t understand it at all—but
it seemed that tonight might have more terrors in store for her. Spur of the
moment, she reached out to hug her sister and cover her eyes, confident that
Oni would stop her from doing it but trying it anyway. Lo and behold, Oni didn’t
try to stop her. As they walked down the quiet hall, Kaley kept her hands
cupped over Shannon’s eyes, both of them sniffling as they shuffled slowly,
like how they had done years ago when trying not to get caught searching for
presents on Christmas Eve. Even though the cuffs had been removed from their
feet they both took such baby steps.
The first body
was laying arms akimbo beside a kitchen table. Kaley hadn’t been ready for it
at all. They simply rounded a corner, and there it was. It was one of the
black men, the shorter one. He was on his back, two red holes at the center of
his chest that were still spilling out his life’s blood. Kaley
felt
him. She felt him still dying. His chest wasn’t moving up and down anymore,
and his eyes stared vacantly off to one side, trying to remember something. He
wasn’t moving, and wasn’t breathing, but he wasn’t entirely dead yet.
Somewhere deep within him, there was still his essence. She felt it.
A comb that had
been placed decoratively in the dead man’s hair was now lying in the pool of
blood spilling out the back of him. Kaley stared at the comb, fixated for a
reason she couldn’t explain. She would remember that comb for a long, long
time.