Writers of the Future, Volume 29 (40 page)

“Honey, you know I love you, right?”

The funny thing is, even though I'm still angry and feelin' like I'm
gonna cry, I wanna say it back to her. I don't know if it's just years of habit, or
if it's 'cause I can't stop loving her, no matter what. But I bite my tongue, and
hang up the phone.

I
can't sleep that night, hard
as I try. My daddy offered to do his dreamcatchin' thing on me, but I ain't keen on
it after all the things I just found out. Besides, I ain't never had any dreams. I
asked Daddy what it meant, if it meant anything at all. He told me it was nothing,
and started talkin' about putting posters on my walls.

Maybe it means I'm like Mama. Or maybe Mama's been eating 'em so many
years my brain's forgotten how.

I'm tossin' and turning, so I get out of bed and start walkin' 'round
the house. Turns out Daddy ain't sleeping neither. He's in his study, leaning over
his desk, polishing something with a little yellow rag.

“Hey,” I say.

He whirls in his chair, lifting what he's got in his hand, only a little
bit, but enough for me to see it. It's a gun—an ol' fashioned one, like they used in
the Wild West. Soon as he sees me, he lets it fall into his lap, coverin' it a bit
with the rag. I think he knows well as I do it's a silly move. I already seen
it.

I clear my throat, tryin' to dispel the awkwardness that's risen up.
“You said you was stronger'n most people. How much stronger?” Some of the men Mama
took was huge.

“Much stronger.” He turns and lays the gun on the desk.

“But you ain't got nothin' on Mama, do you?” I take another step into
the room and see the shine of sweat on his upper lip. “You're afraid that prison's
not gonna hold her.”

“Alexis…” He holds up his hands, warding me off. Huh. So he don't wanna
talk about it. He's scared. Me? I've been scared my whole life, so this ain't
anything new.

“If she gets out and comes for you, you gonna shoot her?”

He just sits there, fixing me with his black eyes. I got no idea what
he's thinkin'.

I point a finger at him. “You remember, that's my mama you're thinkin'
of killing. My mama. Someday I might be just like her. You gonna shoot me then too?”
I don't wait for an answer. I go out of the room, my face so hot I'm sure it's
steaming. Part of me wishes I didn't say those things to my daddy. He's a good man,
and he's been nice to me. I don't want Mama to kill him, and he got a right to
defend himself. I just don't know what's right no more.

I go outside onto the wooden porch, and lean on the railin'. The night
air feels good 'gainst my skin. My eyes adjust to the darkness. 'Cross the yard, in
the cottage on Daddy's property, I see the renter's still awake too. He's got the
curtains open, the lights on, and he's hunched over a desk, head cradled in his palm
as he reads a book. Curly brown hair falls over his eyes. Daddy told me he was a
graduate student.

“Alexis.” Daddy's voice sounds from behind me, but I don't turn around.
His feet shuffle 'gainst the wood, and then he's next to me, looking out where I'm
lookin'. “I don't want you to worry about your mother, or me either. I want you to
think about you.”

I nod in the direction of the cottage. “I wanna be like that
someday—learnin'.”

“How about in a couple days?”

I look up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “I'll see if I can get you a tutor, get you up to speed before
school starts. I should have done it earlier, but I didn't know if you'd be up for
it.”

I smile for the first time since I seen Mama crouched over that man's
body. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Come on,” my daddy says. He puts his arm 'round me. “Go get some
sleep.”

I lean into him. “Sorry 'bout what I said earlier.”

“Sweetheart, out of everyone, you've got things the hardest. Don't you
apologize to me.”

D
addy comes to an agreement with
the renter—Josh. Lowers his rent in exchange for him tutoring me. I do my best, but
I can't stop thinking 'bout Mama and Daddy and the gun and the flip of a coin.
Josh's real sweet, and he's patient even when my mind's elsewhere.

I go to see Mama again at the end of July. She looks like hell. She's
got dark circles 'neath her eyes, and she walks like she's still asleep.

I pick up the phone before she even sits down. “Mama, you okay?”

“You still mad at me, honey?”

I am, but she's the only mama I got. “No.”

“I'm not doin' so well,” she says. She gives me a confused-lookin'
frown.

“You gotta tell 'em you need your juice.”

“Don't matter,” Mama says. “They ain't never gonna let me have it and
it's too late anyway.”

Too late? She grips that phone like a lifeline. Her nails dig into the
plastic, and they shave off pieces of it that curl and drop to the table. I reach
out, but I can't touch her, can't tug on her shirt, like I did that time with David.
There ain't nothing to help her 'cept the sound of my voice. “You need to calm down,
Mama. No use gettin' angry.”

“You know they got men for guards here? Sometimes one of 'em dozes off,
and I get just a taste.” She ain't angry, she's hungry. “Least when I was out and
about I could pick who I fed on. Tried to always pick the bad ones.”

“I know you did.” I keep my voice soft.

“They gonna try to keep me here forever.”

“Mama, you're gonna get a trial.”

“What, you think I'll walk outta here?”

“Sure, maybe someday.”

Must be one lie too many, 'cause her lips curl back, her whole face
goin' tight. This what she looks like to those men before she kills 'em? She hurls
the phone at the window. I must've jumped up, 'cause I'm standing 'bout three feet
away, watching Mama make a spectacle of herself, tearin' and slammin' at everything
in reach. The glass don't break, but her phone's in little black pieces, all over
the table and floor.

She gets a hold of herself before the guards come and get her. I thank
God, Jesus, Buddha, anyone I can think of that she does. I don't wanna watch her
kill no one else.

I
bite into the back of my
pencil, taste the wood and paint in my mouth. I try to focus on the numbers on the
page, but it ain't easy. Finally, I toss the pencil onto the table. “I don't think I
can do this.”

“Sure you can.” Josh gets up and comes 'round to my side. “You're smart,
Alexis. You just need to concentrate.” He puts the pencil next to my paper.

“You really think I'm smart?” Maybe I
can
do
this—be just like all those other teenagers.

“Of course I do. You learn much faster than most of the kids I
tutor.”

“Am I gonna be ready once school starts?”

He tilts his head to the side, purses his already-thin lips. “Maybe,
maybe not. You're making a lot of progress. Just don't be afraid to make
mistakes.”

The breath goes outta me and I remember why I couldn't think in the
first place. I
am
afraid. I'm terrified. I don't know
why I'm sittin' here with Josh, acting like I'm a normal girl learning math.
Seventy-five percent chance I ain't normal. Fifty percent chance I ain't anything
close to normal.

“Hey, did I say something wrong?” He wrinkles his brow.

Daddy. Mama. The flip of a coin and a gun in the drawer of the desk in
the study. “If I asked you to shoot me, right in the head, would you do it?”

His brow wrinkles even more, like he's one of them pug dogs. “Alexis,
why would you say something like that?”

I suck on my upper lip, run my teeth down it. “Don't know,” I say
finally.

I
wake to the sound of tappin'
at my window. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat. In two seconds I go from sleepy to wide awake. I'm
trying to calm down, tellin' myself it's just a branch or a bird or a raccoon, when
I hear it again.

I hear it a third time before I decide to get up. A fourth time before I
actually do. When I go to the window, I'm breathin' through my mouth. Can't seem to
get enough air through my nose. I draw back the curtain.

I don't see nothin'.

But then a hand pops up, the nails tapping 'gainst the window. They're
not painted no more. They gleam 'neath the light of the moon.

“Mama?” I whisper. I open the window, just a crack, so she can hear me.
“Mama, that you?”

She rises from where she's been crouching under my window. “Alexis,
honey.” Maybe she tried to clean herself up before she got here, but there's still
dried flakes of blood on her face. She's got on that undershirt the prisoners wear
'neath the jumpsuit, and a pair of jeans. “You were right, they let me out this
mornin'. I walked all the way out here just to see you. Took me damn near
forever.”

I didn't hear nothin' on the news. She must've broke out tonight, and
took someone's car. Probably killed 'em too. “Mama,” I breathe out, “you can't be
here.” I keep real still.

Mama's swaying back and forth, like she's drunk. Daddy must be sleepin',
and she's close enough to eat his dreams. She'll want the whole thing, and I can't
let her have it.

“But I came so far,” she says.

“Can't you come back tomorrow morning? I'm still sleepin'.”

Her face goes hard. “No.” She closes her eyes, takes a breath and looks
calmer when she opens 'em. “You should come with me, honey. Now I'm out, you don't
have to stay here no more. Could be just like it was before.”

Maybe I can stall her somehow, grab the phone, call 911. “Can I grab a
few things, Mama?”

She sways harder, like she needs to piss. “I can't wait no longer.” She
licks her lips. “Did you want me to come in and help you?”

I don't want her any nearer to my daddy. “No, no. I'm comin'. I'll come
right through the window. Just like old times, right? You, me, and a beat-up
truck.”

She lets out a low laugh.

I open the window all the way, and find the edges of the screen. My
fingers tremble. I probably won't see Daddy again. I won't be goin' to school in the
fall, neither. But maybe that's the way my life's gonna be anyways. Me 'n Mama—a
couple of dreameaters.

A click sounds behind me. “You leave Alexis alone,” Daddy says. He's got
the gun in his hand, and he points it at Mama. I move to the side, outta the line of
fire. I get a trickle of shame in the back of my throat, but I don't wanna go with
Mama, not really. Daddy's hand shakes a little, but I look in his eye, and I know he
won't budge.

Mama's face goes tight, like it did when I visited her. She flexes her
fingers. “She's my daughter too. I raised her.”

“You gave her life, Linda. Doesn't mean you own her.”

She looks at me, her eyes cloudy. “Honey?”

“I just don't want you to hurt Daddy,” I whisper.
“Please.”

But she's too far gone for that. She snarls, and shreds the screen with
one swipe of her hand. She leaps into the house, like the wall below my window ain't
any obstacle at all. Daddy's still got the gun pointed at her, but he shakes harder
now, and he don't pull the trigger. Maybe he's thinking 'bout what I said earlier,
thinking 'bout how Mama and I look kinda alike.

He kneels, real quick, and slides the gun away. Then he rises, and goes
to meet Mama, his jaw set, his hands in fists. He swings at her hard, and gets a hit
on her. She flies back, hits my closet, the doors cavin' in like they're made of
cardboard. I may be stronger'n I look, but I ain't that strong. Nothin' I can do but
watch.

Mama pushes herself outta the broken doors with a growl, and launches
herself at Daddy. She swipes at him, like a cat at a toy. He jumps outta the way,
but the third one catches him 'cross the ribs. He lets out a grunt—the green shirt
he sleeps in ripping and goin' dark with his blood. While he's distracted, she
rushes him, shoving him with her shoulder. He falls 'gainst the bed, one hand to his
side.

Before she can get too close, he kicks her in the stomach. She don't go
back as far this time. She's prepared. Daddy can't get up from the bed 'cause she's
standin' over him. He tries to shove her. His hands connect, but she's quicker. She
grabs his wrists, her nails slidin' 'neath his skin. He don't grunt this time, he
groans as the blood starts running down his arms.

I can't just watch no more. The gun's slid under my desk. I start
crawling towards it. Daddy groans again. He can't die. Not my daddy. I'm not gonna
let Mama do it. Seems like a lifetime, but I finally close my fingers 'round the
cool metal and scramble to my feet. Mama's standin' over Daddy, and his wrists are
bleeding onto my blankets. She got her hands 'round the top of his head.

I lift the gun. “Mama, you get your hands off my daddy.”

She turns, but don't move her hands. “Alexis, what you doin'?”

“What's it look like I'm doin'?” My words are tough, but I'm shakin' way
harder than Daddy did. Now I know why he couldn't shoot her. I'd never have forgiven
him if he did.

Her eyes narrow. She turns back 'round, and slides one nail 'neath the
skin of his forehead. Daddy screams.

I squeeze the trigger. The gun goes off.

Mama's absolutely still. Then blood blooms on the back of her shirt. She
crumples to the floor.

“Mama?” I must've dropped the gun at some point, 'cause I got both hands
on her shoulder. I turn her over and grab her head. “Mama?”