Authors: Bonnie Wheeler
“Help me wash him up. Maybe he’ll be okay if we rinse out the bullet holes.”
It won’t look so bad if he’s cleaned up. They won’t think it was on purpose.
“No he won’t.” Katie pleaded. “You shot him in the chest. Look at all of this blood, he’s dying.” Leaning down to his chest, Katie pressed her ear to listen. After a moment of silence, a gasp escaped her lips, her face paling in horror.
“I know that,” Marge insisted, manically trying to scrub the mess. Brian’s blood was drying on her, making her skin
sticky. She wanted to wash it off. To scrub her skin and the carpets until not a single droplet could be seen. “I told you, it’s not my fault.”
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. We need help,” Katie contended. With each syllable, the girl’s tone grew higher with alarm.
“Of course it does. Do you know what will happen to me if we call the police? They aren’t going to believe me. They’ll lock me up, Katie, please.”
“It was an accident. We’ll tell them what happened, they’ll understand.”
Looking down at Brian, Marge wanted to yell. Why did he do this? How could he have wanted to leave? How could he have wanted Daisy?
All she needed was for tonight to be special. For the two of them to begin their new lives together. Marge was supposed to become his wife and move into Brian’s home. There were so many changes she was going to make: his house, a new car,
the
clothes she had put away. Marge was supposed to be welcomed into Canaan’s high society and finally get the respect she deserved. Now everything was ruined.
Across the floor, on top of his pile of clothes, Brian’s cell phone buzzed. The damn thing had been ringing on and off for ten minutes straight. Frustrated, Marge grabbed it, ready to hit
silence
. Peering down on the screen, the caller display showed it was Angela.
Even now that bitch has to interfere. She can’t leave well enough alone.
Angela was always interloping. She was the one Brian wanted to go home to. It was her that deserved to get shot. Standing up, Marge kicked him as hard as she could in the ribs. Sprawled on his side, he didn’t respond. Brian’s body had grown completely limp, his skin taking on a bluish tone.
“Your fucking wife is calling,” she spat. Throwing the phone at the floor, pieces of plastic went everywhere.
“Stop it!” Katie screamed. “You’ve hurt him enough.”
A throaty wail erupted from Marge’s chest. Bending over him, she pounded her fists into his shoulder, “Wake up, wake up! We’re supposed to be together.”
Collapsing in despair, hopelessness flooded through her. She was so close to having everything, but now Brian was gone. As she lay there sobbing, Marge didn’t even notice Katie get up. Her daughter slipped into the bedroom, returning with a blanket, and tucked it around her mother.
Katie’s voice was saying something as she strode to the kitchen, but Marge couldn’t hear.
Burying her face into Brian’s bloody neck, she wept.
55
KATIE
Friday 9:30 PM
In the kitchen, Katie could barely breathe. Covered in sweat and Brian’s blood, her hands trembled as she dialed the phone. From the moment Brian tore open her blouse to when her mother shot off two rounds from the gun, everything occurred in slow motion. Although only minutes passed, it felt like she was thrust into a different world.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Please send help. There has been a shooting,” Katie’s voice was barely a murmur. As she spoke, it sounded like it
came from someone else. “I think my mom’s boyfriend is dead.”
The voice on the phone wanted details. Asking her to verify her location and phone number, Katie did her best to speak slow and as coherently as possible. While answering the operator’s questions, a ripple spread just beneath her skin, shaking her body uncontrollably. Despite the sheen of perspiration coating her skin, never before had she felt so cold.
So this is shock….
Though the operator asked her to stay on the line, Katie hung up the phone. They had the address and a basic description. There was nothing else she could tell them. It would only be a matter of minutes before the police and paramedics arrived. She needed clothing and her mother did, too. Being exposed in front of Brian was horrible enough; she didn’t want the paramedics to get an eyeful.
The night was about to get very long.
After washing her hands the best she could, Katie slipped on a t-shirt and clean jeans. Rummaging through her mom’s closet, she settled on a plain robe. She hoped to preserve her mother’s dignity if possible. It seemed likely they would handcuff Marge considering the circumstances. No matter how she looked at it – her mother shot Brian right in her own living room. Not to mention the matter of the gun. Marge
would have to explain where she got it. Having her towed out of the apartment in nothing but her underwear would be cruel.
Why did you do this? Why couldn’t you have just let him go?
Once back in the living room, Katie unlocked the front door in preparation for help. She didn’t know what to expect. Would they come in wielding guns and Billy clubs? Would they handcuff them both or just her mother?
I need Dad.
Marge was still huddled over Brian. Her long blond hair fanned out across his skin. The woman’s shoulders rose and fell as she wept.
Crouching down, Katie patted her arm, trying to rouse her. “Come on Mom,” she encouraged, sniffing back her own tears. “The cops are coming. We need to get some clothes on you.”
Marge pushed her away, “Leave me alone.” Popping her head up, she regarded Katie. Her mother’s expression was a mess. A combination of tears and Brian’s blood coated her skin and clung to her hair. “I asked you not to call them.”
“I had to Mom,” Katie whispered. Setting the bathrobe on the floor next to her mother, she backed away.
A quick assessment of Brian and Katie could see he was still unresponsive. His naked form lay prostrate on the floor. There was no longer any air whishing through the holes in his chest, nor were there shallow breaths passing his lips.
Although his eyes were open, they didn’t appear fixed on anything.
He’s really gone.
“You know this wasn’t my fault,” Marge sniveled. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“I know,” Katie replied. “It will be okay.”
You shouldn’t have brought home the gun.
Searching the floor, Katie spotted the weapon. Knowing the police would inspect it, she left it where it was. Her fingerprints were all over it, Davey Shaw’s, too. It was ridiculous that she carried it around all night as part of her costume. That detail was bound to come out in police questioning.
I should have tossed it in the river.
“It’s more your fault than mine,” Marge alleged, “You had to color your hair and dress like a whore. It was no wonder you confused him. He thought you were someone else.”
Katie whipped her head around at her mother. Marge sat there, draped across Brian with her breasts sagging and her hair plastered to her face. Her mother glared up at her, obviously irate.
Swallowing back her hurt, Katie replied, “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, but I do,” she snapped back.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Katie said.
Combing her fingers through her hair, she knew her mother wasn’t in her right mind. Yes she dyed it red and dressed in leather and high heels. It was Halloween and she was seventeen. The night was meant for getting dressed up and having fun. Brian was responsible for his actions, not Katie. Just like her mother couldn’t cast blame for what she did either. Still, Marge’s words stung, their implications adding to the burden she already carried.
“You could make this better,” Marge said, her tone softening. “You could tell them he was after you for dressing that way and you shot him in self-defense.”
Walking across to the window, Katie peered out at the street. The sirens were in the distance, the familiar shrill carried at night. Help should be coming soon. Already neighbors were lining up out front. With cell phones in hand, they pointed up at the apartment’s windows, motioning with concerned expressions.
They must have heard the gun shots.
“You’re a minor. They wouldn’t even bring you to jail – just have us talk to a counselor and you could tell them you got the gun from a friend at school. You should protect me. I’m your mother.”
Refusing to face her, Katie stared down at the sidewalk. Red and blue strobe lights approached – their glow lighting up the block. Marge continued talking – her voice still indistinct from copious amounts of alcohol. Even half naked
and covered in blood, she concocted a story Katie knew the police would never buy.
Tears spilled, soaking the cotton neckline of her shirt. Her breathing was fast, her pulse too quick, and her lips wouldn’t stop quivering. The sheer panic trembling through her caused her to wonder if she would ever feel normal again. Agony spread through her middle, but she forced it down inside. Never before did Katie believe it was possible to feel her heart break, but as she stood motionless, listening to her mother’s denial of any wrongdoing, Katie knew that was exactly what she felt.
Too many years had passed waiting for her mother to come around, waiting for the drinking to stop – to be cherished. Even hoping if things got bad, Marge would ensure Katie’s wellbeing came first above all others. That was all Katie dreamed of – what she was asking for earlier when she begged her mother to put her first. Katie needed to believe Marge could be a good parent, but now she finally understood.
No matter how much Katie loved Marge, it would never be enough. Marge couldn’t change. Her mother didn’t know how to love her back. No longer trying to hold it inside, Katie wept freely. It hurt knowing she’d have to live without her mother, but didn’t have a choice. She had nothing left inside to fight for
.
56
RACHEL
November 8
th
, Saturday 4:00 PM
Holding tight to Jason’s hand, Rachel just nodded as each member of the congregation whispered their condolences. The receiving line spread out New Hope Bible Church’s doors and into the wet parking lot. If it was any longer, they would be there until midnight, shaking hands, accepting hugs, and thanking the attendees for coming.
Her mother stood directly to her right. Dressed in a somber black pantsuit, Angela Jones was trying her best to make it through one of the worst weeks ever. Sylvia flanked her mother’s other side, the three women greeting the mourners who had come out in masses. Grandma and Grandpa Jones were expected to arrive in the morning. Flying up from Georgia, they were planning to be at the cemetery
when their son was lowered into his final resting place. It was a reunion Rachel dreaded. Her southern relatives were practically strangers.
It was such a cliché that it would rain on the day they had her father’s wake. But so weren’t the constant platitudes uttered in his memory. Despite the basic news reports in the paper about him being gunned down in Katie’s apartment, one after another, people from town told her how amazing her father was in their time of need. How Brian Jones would be regaled as a loved Christian leader and a martyr for the cause by trying to witness to a psycho like Marge Finch. Others boasted he was generous, trusting and kind. All Rachel could do was
thank
them.