Just Intuition

MAKENZI FISK

Copyright © 2014 Makenzi Fisk

Mischievous Books

www.mischievousbooks.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

First Mischievous Books Edition 2014
Cover Design: Makenzi Fisk
ISBN: 978-9938087-1-5

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am thankful for my partne
r Stacey, and daughter Wahnita, who provide me with endless support and inspiration.

Tracey, you encouraged me to write, and I am grateful.

My characters and stories are purely fiction and in no way resemble actual people or events. That said, I have certainly been influenced by quirky friends and relatives, and real life criminals with whom I have crossed paths.

… and thank YOU, for reading.

DEDICATION

I am humbled to have enjoyed the love
of many furry companions and I cherish every single memory. Pets have a particular way of weaving themselves into my life and my stories.

I want to remind the reader that no actual animals were harmed in the creation of this book. It's fiction, silly. I hired imaginary stunt animals who were well paid for their contributions and are still living happily in my mind.

PROLOGUE

The bitch is down there. I imagine her skeleton lying with arms crossed, like in the movies. I used to
think about the fishes eating her flesh, but I guess she's just bones now. She's probably got her big mouth open and I bet she's still screamin'.
Well, go ahead and scream. No one can hear you.

I stand on the trail by the bog, my bog, looking at the edge where the moss meets the rocky outcroppings. The bare end of the nearest willow branch easily snaps off and I toss it out, aiming for the pool of open water in the middle. It comes up short and slaps the soggy surface, wobbles and
lays like a dead snake. Something heavier will sink to the bottom. I pick up a medium sized rock and consider its weight before heaving it with all my might. It flies past the stick, lands soundlessly and disappears.

She ruined my life and I hated her. She deserved it, telling me what to do and pretending she cared, when I know she didn
't. If she really cared, she would have given me what I wanted. But she never did. That day, she pretended we were having a good time, going for a picnic and talking sweet. After a while she started a fight. Like always.

I guess I didn
't need to hit her so hard, but the rock was right there, like a sign or something. Blood ran down the side of her head and she fell to her knees, staring at me like she didn't recognize me any more. She tried to get up and pawed at my leg.
Get your hands off me!
I kicked her in the neck. She knew I don't like to be touched.
Don't touch me!

She grabbed her throat and staggered halfway to her feet so I
shoved her as hard as I could. She went over into the bog like a drunken hippo and I remember her face, all squished up and covered with moss and mud. Her eyes opened wide like a doll from a horror movie but I wasn't scared. I wanted to laugh because she looked so funny making such a big deal.

She slapped at the sloppy moss with her hands so I picked up a big stick and pushed her back from the edge. Her head dipped under. She never was a good swimmer, and the muck made it worse. When I was tired of listening to her bawl I hit her on the head. She went under and then it was real quiet.

It was so easy. No one would ever find her. Stuff that sank to the bottom of this bog never came up. If you push a stick through the water and down into that muck, it burps up a rotten stink. That's why everyone calls it loon shit. Already, she was probably sucked down and it's a perfect place for her. I used to dream about this all the time. She was gone. Really gone.

That day, I squatted beside the bog, enjoyed the warm sun shining on my face, and the sound of birds doing whatever birds do. In her purse, I found a pack of Marlboro
's and lit one with her disposable lighter. I pocketed the money from her wallet, filled the purse with rocks and tossed it in after her. It sank quicker than she did and I sat back to savor my first smoke in weeks. I wheezed like an asthmatic but it settled after I smoked a few more.

I stayed until the whole pack was gone and I
'd made myself light-headed. Suddenly I realized that I was happy for the first time I could ever remember. So, this is what happy feels like, I thought.

I had to do it. I wanted to. I
'm glad.

The sun is getting lower in the sky and I stand up, gathering saliva in my mouth. I spit as far as I can, just for good measure.
This is my bog
. I turn and walk up the trail to the little white house at the other end.

The car is gone.
Of course. Saturday evening is a no-brainer. Card night with the Lutheran Ladies Bridge Club. The old broad would never miss the gossip. They're like a little gang of whiskey jacks. Always picking through someone else's stuff. Those stupid birds never shut up, just like all them ladies.
Mind your own business!

It
's not even dark yet but I open the gate, walk past the satellite dish on the lawn and right up on the back porch like I own the place. Yes, the key is under the mat. It's so easy. She's so stupid. She must be the only one out here who bothers to lock the door. Better to get a dog but she'd never do that. What if he took a crap on her carpet? She'd have a heart attack. I have to work real hard not to laugh out loud at the thought of a big Rottweiler taking a dump in the middle of her tidy living room. The thought of her keeling over from a freakin' heart attack is even funnier and I can't stop myself. I snort the laugh through my nose and wipe it on my sleeve. Why am I worried? No one is around to hear me for half a mile.

I turn the key in the lock and push the door open, real gentle, and it doesn
't even squeak. She probably oils the hinges every week. I hide the key back under the mat now, so I won't forget later. Everything in its place. Hospitals are not even this clean. I check my shoes, she'd spot a single bit of dirt or grass, and close the door behind me. Ah, my second home.

Fresh muffins are cooling on the counter beside the oven. They smell okay and I bet they are still warm but I don
't take one because she'll notice that for sure. I've been coming in here for months and by now I've learned where she keeps everything. Stupid jewelry in the old dresser drawer, a bunch of stupid glass dolls and trinkets. I couldn't pay someone to take that crap. But it's sure nice to come relax at my weekend getaway. Nobody is here to bug me.

I look in the fridge out of habit. Friggin
' garden vegetables and nasty looking baked stuff. No meat and not even any beer. How can she live like this? Who doesn't drink beer? I peel a slice of cheese from a stack and stuff it in my mouth. I'm careful to close the package and slide it back into place. It's weird white cheese and I choke on it but manage to get it down after I chew it a few times. She'll never spot that. Who counts their cheese? I know there's nothing good in the pantry but I take a peek anyway.

Last time I tried some minty crap in a bottle but it tasted like toothpaste so I spit it in the drain. Shouldn
't have done that. She might have noticed.

I sit carefully on the sofa and turn on the TV. The old lady has better channels than home. A Bruce Willis action movie is on and I turn up the volume. That guy knows how to kick ass. Bruce hadn
't killed his first dozen when, between gunshots, a noise outside catches my attention. Gravel crunches in the driveway and I jump straight up off the couch. I peek between the blinds as she parks her blue car out front. She's behind the wheel with her seatbelt on, all prim and proper and annoying. What the hell?

She
's out of the car before I've hit the off button and brushed the wrinkles from the couch. I make for the back door but there's no time. She's climbing onto the porch and she'll see me for sure. I grab the closest knife from the rack in the kitchen and grip it tight, my feet spread wide. Blood pounds in my throat. Should I get rid of her? Could I do it? What would Bruce Willis do? The tiny paring knife shakes in my hand and I decide that today is not a good day to mess up this tidy kitchen. I race to the bedroom and shut myself in the closet. It smells like mothballs but I can't really complain, can I?

I hear her open the fridge and close it again. There is rustling in the kitchen and then the backdoor slams. She
's gone again, as fast as she'd come. I wait until the car pulls away and now I'm pissed. This is my time. My time! She has no right to ruin it! She made me run and hide in the closet like a little pussy. Knife clenched hard in my hand, I shove the door open and step out.

What would have happened if I
'd jumped her the minute she stepped through the door? Would she scream? Would she fight? Would she just stand there like a friggin' rutabaga? I examine the little paring knife in my hand. Probably best it didn't come to that.

"Scheisse!" I punch the inside of the closet but it hurts so I swear out loud a few more times "Scheisse! Scheisse! Scheisse!" It occurs to me that this is my favorite cuss.

In the kitchen, I slide the knife back into the rack and open the fridge. The nasty looking baked stuff is gone. The fresh muffins too. That's why she came back. I slam the door, return to the couch, and make a point of sitting my ass down hard to reclaim my space. A pillow bounces off and lands on the floor. I pick it up and rearrange it. My relax time is ruined. I hate her. I flick the TV on, change the channel, and turn it off again. She's ruined everything.

I imagine myself smashing every single thing in this room.
Boom!
Out goes the front window.
Crash!
That's the glass on the cabinet.
Smash! Smash! Smash!
Goodbye to all those stupid little glass dolls. I imagine sitting here in a huge pile of broken glass, glittering like little diamonds all around me.

I stare at the dolls for a minute before I get up and wipe the wrinkles off the couch, like I always do. It
's time to leave. On my way past the kitchen stove, I turn every damn one of the knobs all the way on. Gas hisses out the burners and I smile. It will stink to high heaven when she gets home tonight. Maybe she'll light a match. That'll be worth watching. I shut the door behind me and walk the trail around the bog. I'll get myself a beer and be back as soon as I can. I don't want to miss the show.

It takes longer than I planned to clear my head and find a couple of beers. I am so excited that I forget to apply insect repellent and am half eaten-alive before I
'm forced to go back for it. Blackflies and skeeters are nasty out by the bog after dark if you don't keep moving. I know the trail by heart and can walk it with my eyes closed. It's a warm evening and I can't wait. I pop the tab on the first can of Budweiser while I walk.

I feel like it
's my birthday and something incredible is coming. I have already imagined a half dozen different scenarios. Church Lady will come home and light a smoke. No, she doesn't smoke. She will light a candle. Yes, she'll pour herself a glass of wine and light a candle. Nope, she doesn't drink either. Well, something needs to happen, or I will be forced to make it happen.

When I reach the little white house, I see I haven
't missed the show because she's not home yet. I find a spot just outside the picket fence where I can wait. I take a long swallow of my first beer and set the second can in the weeds at my feet. Me and the King of Beers. What a perfect night.

A few minutes later, headlights come up the road and I squat behind the fence when her blue car pulls closer. Excitement bubbles up from my belly and I rock back and forth a little. I just can
't stop myself. Church Lady gets out of her car and damned if she doesn't lock her door. Why in hell would she lock her door way out here? To stop thieving squirrels? Like I said before: she's stupid.

I see her plain as day under the moonlight, struggling with her bags. Her stupid old lady shoes trip her on the step before she makes it up to the porch. She puts her key in the lock. I can hear a gurgling sound in my throat and it takes a minute before I realize it
's me. She reaches inside for the porch light switch and a flash instantly blinds me. The heat wave follows right after, like I'm at the wrong end of a blowtorch. I am knocked backward so hard that I'm a bit scrambled so I lay still and stare at the sky for a minute. When I sit up, I see what I've done.

The entire back end of the house is on fire and those old lady shoes are standing empty and alone on the porch. Flames curl
hungrily around the shoes but there is so much smoke that I can't see Church Lady at all. My imagination fills in the blanks. I must have the sloppiest grin on my face because it just looks so amazing! I jump to my feet and raise my hands above my head like a kid on a roller coaster. I think I'm shouting but don't really know what I'm saying. Just a bunch of words that seem to roll together off my tongue. I have never felt so alive!

After a while I realize that you can probably see the smoke and fire for miles. Someone will be here soon to find out what
's going on but I don't want to leave yet. I stay a minute more and then take off running. This was the best night of my life!

I am halfway home before I remember that I left my beer by the fence.