Marilyn (6 page)

SEVENTEEN

Miles of churned up countryside passed from view, flooded fields and battered barns lay broken and savaged, victim to the storm. Tiles and torn roofs disposed of like garbage on the sides of the roads. Not a car, animal or person in view. They seemed to be the only two people left in the world, survivors of the apocalypse, the riders on the storm.

They had not passed a conversational word for over fifteen minutes, unless grunts and groans passed as communication. Jack preferred it that way, silence is sometimes golden. O'Sullivan's attention was fixed to nothing other than the flooded tarmac ahead, he paid no notice to his young, terrified passenger.

The car spat and stammered along the road, chugging its way to its death in the deserted, backward outland road.

'What the fuck? What the fuck is going on?'

O'Sullivan examined the illuminated dials on the dashboard. The fuel was fine, no problem there. The oil indicator was right where it should be. Everything was as it should be. The steering fought back against O'Sullivan's strength, becoming heavy and disobedient. The engine snuffled and whined like a wounded, dying animal caught in a hunter's trap. O'Sullivan pressed on, ignoring the fight. Another sign post was planted to the right of the track just ahead: “Town 4 Miles.” An arrow pointed right. “Continue through for freeway.”

“Off Road Track 1 mile.” An arrow pointed left.

***

Jack stared at the sign, taking in every word, remembering them, and reading it again. Help was on the horizon. The taste of freedom dripped off his captive tongue, he could taste it, and damn, it tasted good.

***

The wheels trampled the debris that covered the road, snapping small branches, until they came to an abrupt standstill.

O'Sullivan shut the engine down with a vicious twist, took the keys from the ignition and slipped them into his jacket pocket, leaving the handbrake off.

He turned his back to Jack and stretched across to the disgraceful back seats, reaching for a coat, a hat and small jumper, David's jumper. The coat was well worn and patchy with faded streaks of lifeless colour. It was the coat and hat that Walter wore to David's soccer games, before work ruled his life. It would only be mild protection against the flurry of wind and rain, but it was better than nothing.

'Put this on. It's going to be cold out there,' Walter said.

Walt handed David's jumper to Jack, who slipped it over his head, threw his arms through the sleeves and pulled it down to his waist. It fit perfectly. Walter got out first, the wind and rain hit at his face, cold, hard reality stabbed at his senses. He stopped dead in his tracks, looked at his shoes, and then through the window at Jack. He pushed against the gusts and skulked around to Jack's door and opened it.

'Get out. Now.'

Jack hopped out, carefully minding his step.

O'Sullivan stepped up to the door, bent in, opened the glove box, took out the gun, and holstered it in the back of his jeans.

'Now, listen to me boy,' he ordered. 'If you set one foot out of line, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet through your face, you got me?’

'Yes, sir,' Jack answered, sincerely.

'Good. Now get behind the car and start to push.'

O'Sullivan had to shout for his words to be heard over the bellow of the storm.

'Push?' Jack questioned, his lip trembling.

     'That's right, boy, you heard me. Now get behind the car and push. I'm not asking again.'

He tapped the back of his jeans with two fingers.

'Yes, sir.'

Jack went behind the car and started pushing.

O'Sullivan forced his way back around to the driver’s side of the car and manoeuvred the steering wheel. Together they clumsily nudged the car left, towards a steep bank that wasn't evident from inside the vehicle. It rolled down, resisting the hindrance of the overgrown weeds and tree stumps. It haltingly invaded the coarse undergrowth, slipping into obscurity. It was gone. O'Sullivan brushed his hands together. Satisfied. He closed his eyes, took a deep sniff of the wet air and rubbed at his temples, appreciating the fine confetti of rain that pummelled his face.

'I want you to stay in front of me the whole way, OK, boy? Don't turn around. Keep your eyes front and centre, or I'll shoot you in the back and leave you here. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir. I understand,' Jack sniffled.

'Good, I don't want to hear a fuckin' peep from you unless I ask you to speak, you got that, too?’

Jack nodded.

They followed the beaten off-road track, Jack taking the lead, charging mightily through the thicket and perilous torment of Mother Nature’s condemnation without looking back. Not once.

EIGHTEEN

Marilyn nudged Elwood with her shoulder gently, rocking him sidewards.

'What are you waiting for?' she urged with a twinkle in her eye.

The voice boomed again, clear, authoritative, sincere.

'This is Sheriff R.J. Russell, we have received your transmission, please state your emergency, I repeat. This is Sheriff R.J. Russell, please state your emergency, over.'

Elwood clicked the red button, keeping his thumb pressed. He took in a breath, held it and exhaled. He cleared his throat, making sure his speech was audible. He trembled, slightly.

'Sheriff, this Elwood Bailey over at the Bailey Motel. It's damn good to hear your voice right about now, over.'

A lengthy static-filled pause erupted through the attic walls.

'Elwood, it’s been a while, old timer. How are things? Over.'

'It has, Sheriff, it has. Are the phone lines down your end, too? Over.'

Marilyn scrunched her fists together and impatiently slid her fingers around in the palms of her hands.

'You've got that right, Bailey. Everything is down. The power, the works. We're running everything off the back-up generator. It's loud and obnoxious, but it's just about doing the trick. What can I do you for? Everything OK at your end? Over.'

The pair exchanged a sombre stare. They kept this all the while Elwood spoke into the plastic hand-held receiver.

'I know that feeling oh too well, Sheriff. If it wasn't for the back-up generator, we'd be sitting here surrounded by candles,' he joked, procrastinating. 'Well…'

He cleared his throat, again, and put his age-bruised hand onto Marilyn's knee.

'Sheriff. I've got a lady here, she says her son has been taken, kidnapped. Over.'

He didn't release his finger straight off, he kept it there.

Static. Endless static.

Marilyn put her hand on top of his and clenched with her nails. 

     'Shit, Elwood. Is she there with you now?' he asked, his professionalism drifting. 'Over.'

'Sure is, she's sitting right next to me, over.'

'Shit, Elwood, Jesus. Is she OK? Over.'

Static.

Elwood smiled, tenderly.

'Well. She's a strong one. Stronger than I am. Over,' he admitted, with the same smile that then met Marilyn's eyes.

They half smiled together under the sombre rays of the flickering electrical light.

'Elwood, I have to ask.' Static.

'Do, umm, do you believe her? I know that sounds insensitive, but you wouldn't believe the amount of crackpots that fly out of the woodwork at times like this. Over.'

He answered without hesitation, unequivocally.

'Yes, Sheriff. Yes, I do.'

Marilyn let her hand fall onto Elwood's knee.

'Thank you.'

Elwood gave a kind and considerate nod of his head.

'Elwood, can I talk to her? Is that OK? Over.'

'Sure thing, Sheriff.'

Elwood handed her the receiver and watched as she readied herself, shaking her shoulders and straightening her back. The black cardigan hugged her slim, battler's figure, it did a great job of fighting back the cold that attacked her arms.

She held the receiver to her mouth and ended the somniferous static with a click of a button.

'Hello, Sheriff.'

She released the button and waited, chewing the corner of her lip.

'Hello, Ma'am. This is Sheriff R.J. Russell. How are you holding up? I hope Elwood is looking after you? Over,' the voice asked, brightly.

Elwood encouraged her with a hand signal, indicating that everything would be fine.

'Umm… not so good, Sheriff, to tell you the truth.'

'I understand.'

Static.

'What's your name, Ma'am? Over.'

'It's uh, it’s Marilyn. Umm… Over?’ She fumbled with the receiver, switching hands.

'That's good, Marilyn. It's good to meet you, I mean to talk to you.'

She chuckled, although it didn't last.

'I know you don't know me and I'm just some strange voice over the radio, but can you try your best to explain to me what has happened, Marilyn? Everything you can remember, even things that may seem irrelevant, it could all help.'

They heard him clear his throat and swallow. 'Right now, the smallest details are just as important. I understand this is painful for you, and I apologise for making you do this again, I guess you've already been over this with Mr Bailey. But do you think you can manage it one last time? Over.'

She looked over to Elwood, waiting for his nod of approval. There it was accompanied with a hand gesture and a smile.

'It's OK, Marilyn. Take your time. Over.'

She explained the night’s events in great detail, trying not to leave out anything, just as she had with Elwood. She talked about stopping for food, about Jack, the conversations they had. Everything. The sheriff offered his sympathy and his deductions. Everything was much stronger and clearer this time. He asked for a description of David O'Sullivan, for that she passed it back to Elwood, who could give a better description of the man than she could.

Elwood watched her closely as she listened to everything, looking back and forth from him to the radio, from the radio to him.

'He wasn't very tall, Sheriff. Shorter than me, so I'd say about five foot six, maybe five seven, medium build. He was quite well spoken, definitely not from around here. Probably somewhere in the city, would be my guess. He had a scar under his eye and he looked a little worse for wear. His clothes were grubby and he didn't exactly smell fresh. Over.'

They listened to the distant sound of hectic scribbling knitted together with short bursts of static.

     'Marilyn?' the voice asked.

Elwood passed the receiver back, his face an unfinished canvas.

      'Yes, Sheriff. I'm here. Over.'

     'My guess, Marilyn, would be that you and Jack were both drugged, more than likely when you stopped for food. Sleeping pills would be the most obvious answer here. It was impulsive, I don't think this was planned at all. Did you feel a little groggy when you woke? Over.'

Marilyn held her breath tightly in her chest.

'Come to think of it, yeah I did,' she recalled, stroking her hair. 'Do you think he would hurt Jack?' she asked with a weak quiver in her voice.

     'I... I can't be sure, Marilyn. I wouldn't want to say. Over,’ he answered prudently, honestly.

Elwood drooped his head. He hinted for the receiver with an open hand, Marilyn complied.

'Sheriff, it’s Elwood here, over.'

'Go ahead, Elwood. Over.'

'The guy, well. He stayed here, he turned up about four hours before Marilyn. He signed the guest book, his name is David O'Sullivan. Now I don't know if that is an alias or not, but I was hoping you could check, you know, on your computery thing, maybe he has some sort of criminal record. Over.'

Static.

'You've been reading too many of those old crime books, my friend.' The voice was amused. 'Unfortunately, though, the storm has knocked out all of the power for the computers, there's nothing I can do at my end at the moment. Over.'

'Fucking technology,' spouted Elwood. 'Sheriff, not to be an ass or anything, but you did say that you've got everything running off of a back-up generator,' Elwood pushed. 'Over.'

'Yeah, that's correct. But the computer systems run from an alternate power source, at the moment all we have running are the lights and fridges. I've got someone working on it as we speak. I'm sorry, but I can't give a time when they'll back up,' he admitted. 'We're a small town in the arse end of nowhere, I can't imagine anyone rushing out to us. Over.’

'I hear you.' Elwood nodded to himself.

'Listen, both. I've taken notes, I'll check it all out. I'll inform my men, tell them to keep their eyes open. I want you two to stay put where you are and wait for me to get back to you, is that understood? Over.’

     'Sheriff, I'm sorry,'               Elwood replied without hesitation. 'But I'm afraid that is out of the question. There's nothing we can do here. We're going to make our way out to you. Over.'

'I was afraid of that. There isn't anything you can do this end, either. It's too dangerous to go out travelling in this weather. It's safer for everyone if you just stay where you are until I tell you otherwise. Over.'

‘With all due respect, Sheriff, fuck the weather. I've made a promise, and I'm not about to go back on that because of some rain. It shouldn't take us longer than a few hours to get to you, we will be leaving as soon as we can. We'd appreciate it if someone was there to greet us when we arrive. Over.'

'Since I met you, you've always been a stubborn bastard, Elwood. Over.’

Static.

'You've got that right, Sheriff. Over.'

'I want you two to drive carefully, you got that? The storm sounds like it's picking back up again. We probably haven't seen the worst of it yet, either. Over.'

'You've got it, Sheriff. You can expect us in a couple of hours. Over.'

'Roger. Over and out.'

Static.

Elwood got to his feet first, helping Marilyn up. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.

'Thank you, Elwood. I don't know what I would be doing without you.'

'Don't thank me yet. Come on, we better get a move on if we're going to beat this weather.' He blushed.

     Elwood strolled behind the table where the radio rested, and paced to the back wall. He stood on his toes and snatched Molly off of the wall.

'What. What's that?' Marilyn enquired, pointing.

'Ahh. You two haven't been formally introduced. This is Molly, my companion in arms.'

He held Molly out in all of her glory so Marilyn could see her through the low gloom of light.

Marilyn didn't react.

'Is it loaded?'

'Sure is. I always keep her loaded, you never know when you're going to need it.'

Marilyn nodded.

'Good. Have you got many bullets?'

     'Enough, don't you worry about that.'

     'OK, what’s our plan?' she asked, lightly dancing on the spot.

Elwood thought for a moment.

'I'll pack a few things. Is there anything you need from your car before we leave?'

     'No. I… I don't think so. Shit. I left the engine running,' she remembered, scraping the flat of her forehead with her damp fingers. 'It's probably dead by now.'

     'It doesn't matter,' Elwood reassured. 'We're taking my Jeep, anyway. You sure you don't need to get anything?'

'Yeah, I'm sure.'

'Right, great. Let's get moving.'

The two hurried back through the attic. The sound of static and the pitter-patter of their feet bounced from wall to wall, floor to ceiling. They quickly but carefully negotiated their way down the staircase.

'OK, Marilyn. I'm going to be a couple of minutes. I need to collect a few things before we leave. Do you want to wait in the Jeep?'

'Isn't there anything I can help you with?' Marilyn wondered.

     'I guess there are a few things.'

He pointed a finger.

'If you go into my bedroom and get the shotgun shells from the top drawer of the bedside table, there should be coats hanging up on the back of the door, they'll come in handy. Grab those as well. I'll make a flask of coffee, because god-damn, we'll need that, too.’

'OK.'

     They parted.

***

Marilyn marched through the corridor, finding Elwood's bedroom easily. She rummaged through the drawer of his bedside table and snatched up the box of shells, not allowing any distractions to find her. She turned to the door, spotting the hanging coats. She gripped them both with one hand and threw them over her raised forearm in two swift movements. She surveyed the room for any other obvious resources, but there were none. She stamped her heels and marched out, back through the corridor.

***

Elwood rested Molly against the wall and made his way across to the kitchen. He filled a flask with black coffee, adding a shot or five of the finest. He stirred it and put the lid on. He grabbed an empty backpack from the office and stuffed it with torches, the flask and the remainder of the whiskey. He snatched the keys to the Jeep from their hanger and made his way back to where he had left Marilyn. She stood there, next to Molly, with a tenacious look burning on her earnest face.

'Are we ready to leave?'

'Yeah.' Elwood nodded. 'We're ready. How are you feeling? Are you sure you're up for this now, because when we leave, there's no turning back.'

'Of course I'm ready,' she exclaimed. 'And there's nothing on this earth that will stop me.’

'Good, just checking.' Elwood looked both ways, up and down the corridor, looking but not really seeing. 'OK. Let’s go and get Jack.'