Heartland Junk (Part II): Sanctuary (4 page)

Chapter 6

              THE HOUSE loomed, silent as a tombstone in the last light of day, as we pulled the Jeep into the back lawn. I peered up at the dark windows through the windshield.

              "Where is everybody?" Rivet asked.

              "Beats me," I said. "Sleeping?"

              "I don't like it," Rivet said, picking the axe off the back seat. "Get the crowbar and let's check it out."

              The worn steps creaked under our weight as we ascended. Flakes of blue paint cracked away, revealing the washed-out wooden boards beneath. I gently nudged the swinging screen door open and walked across the dark porch. Rivet's footsteps fell like whispers behind me. The door into the kitchen was closed, the room dark beyond the glass.

              "Halloo?" Rivet called. There was no reply. I tried the knob. It turned easily under my hand. I pushed the door open and stepped back, nerves screaming, waiting for something to jump out of the darkness to eat me. Fuck, where were they? Had the zombies broken in?

              "Shit," said Rivet. "You don't think those people caught up to Abby and Theo?"

              "Jennie?" I called into the dark kitchen. Heavy silence was the only reply. Not even an echo of my voice. "Dammit!" I hissed. "Let's stick together."

              "No fucking shit," Rivet hissed back. If
he
was taking this seriously, I should be scared shitless.

              We crept through the kitchen, scanning the shadows. Looking for pink pricks in the archway leading to the living room. Listening for creaks in the rooms above us. I angled toward the closed dining room door, but Rivet said, "This way," and went toward the living room side.

              "You didn't bring a flashlight?" I whispered to Rivet.

              "Why would I? It was daytime."

              "Of course," I snapped. "And it was never going to get dark."

              "You didn't bring one either, dunbfuck," Rivet whispered back. I walked into the living room behind Rivet, feeling the darkness envelop me. I could dimly make out the shape of the sofa across the room, and the open doorway to the foyer materialized as a deeper black inside the surrounding void.

              "I figured you had one," I said.

              "Like it's my job to have a flashlight, like...
shh,
" he cut himself off. I'd heard it. Just the softest ghost of a creaking door hinge. Not in the living room, but...

              "Behind us," Rivet whispered. I nodded. He probably couldn't even see it, it was so dark. My heart was hammering. The iron crowbar grew slick in my sweaty palms.

              Swish, a soft shoe on linoleum. Definitely someone behind us. In the kitchen. They must have come through the door from the dining room. Need to turn around. I was locked in place. Need to move. On three. I gripped the crowbar tighter. One...I felt Rivet tense, unseen, beside me. Two...deep breath. Shaking. Fuck, if they'd killed Jennie...I'd rip the throats out of every last one of them. I'd make them beg for death. I'd...

              Three.

              I spun, crowbar raised, and the kitchen flared into brightness. I shut my eyes against the sudden glare and swung blindly. The crowbar smashed into something soft. Rivet shouted, then grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back, then started laughing.

              I opened my eyes and saw Jennie standing in the middle of the kitchen. A smashed pile of icing and cake lay at her feet, a candle still fizzling weakly on top.

              "Surprise," she managed. Her hands were shaking slightly.

              "What...?" I began.

              "Happy birthday, Rayman," Rivet said, clapping his hand over my shoulder. "Thank God you have terrible aim."

              "Holy shit," I exclaimed. "I could have killed you! What the hell were you thinking?"

              "We wanted to surprise you," Jennie said. I wondered how close the crowbar had come to splitting her skull. Theo pushed through the dining room door and ran up to me. He gave me a hug around the waist. Abby trailed after him. She looked a little better, but her eyes still never seemed to focus on anything.

              "Wait a minute," I said, rounding on Rivet. "You knew? You were pretending this whole time?"

              Rivet laughed again. "Not bad, huh?"

              "And that fucking line about the psycho meth heads finding us?" I shouted. I felt like strangling him. "I thought Jennie was dead. My heart is fucking
pounding.
" I leaned against the doorjamb. Rivet, Jennie, and Theo were watching me nervously. I took a deep breath and, aw, fuck it. I smiled. Rivet cheered. Jennie stepped over the ruined cake and gave me a hug.

              "Happy birthday, Ray," she said.

              "I can't believe you guys remembered. Hell,
I'd
forgotten about it."

              "What are friends for?" said Rivet.

              "And where the hell did the cake come from?" I asked.

              "Jennie and I picked it up the first time we went to the store. Now stop asking questions and let's grab that booze from the Jeep. We'll leave the rest of it until tomorrow. This is a celebration!"

              "Hold on!" Jennie said. "I have another surprise." She disappeared into the dining room and came back holding the dustiest boombox I'd ever seen.

              "I found it in the basement," she said. "It's battery operated. Only one tape, though. I hope you like Jimmy Buffett."

              "I'd listen to Bjork right now if it meant music," I said. "Dammit, Jennie, I could kiss you."

              Jennie's eyes narrowed like a cat's and her lips curved into a smile. "Go for it, birthday boy."

              "Don't assume I won't kick your ass just because it's your birthday," Rivet said, grabbing my bicep. I didn't think he was entirely joking. "Come help me with the booze."

              When Rivet and I came back inside, the tropical tones of "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes" were struggling valiantly through the speakers of the little cassette player. We unloaded bottles of wine onto the kitchen counter while Jennie went around lighting candles and battery camping lamps in the kitchen and living room. Our little pocket of the house blazed with yellow light and scratchy music, and I found myself loosening up for the first time in days.

              "Here's to staying alive." Rivet raised his water glass full of red wine, sloshing a bit over the rim and onto the white linoleum floor. I raised my own glass to his, and Jennie trotted across the room to join in on the toast. Theo stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and I waved him over. He was smiling so big I don't know how he got the Oreo through his teeth, but he shoved a whole cookie into his mouth and hopped over with a glass of grape juice.

              "To friends, no matter what," I said. I tousled Theo's hair and added, "New friends, too." In the living room, Abby leaned forward on the edge of the couch, skeletal hands clasped around a glass of untouched white wine, staring at us.

              "To finding beauty in the world, no matter how shitty it may seem."

              "Good one, babe." Rivet slid his arm over Jennie's shoulder.

              "To all the mommies and daddies," Theo chimed in. "Like Ms. Abby."

              "Nice, buddy," I leaned over and murmured to Theo. He grinned up at me, teeth full of chocolate. "Come on over here and join us, Abby," I called to our spectator.

              "Yeah, Abby! Get over here and have fun," Jennie said. "We're so glad you're here. Both of you."

              "Eh, what the hell. Get your skinny ass over here, lady! I've got a bottle of '06 shiraz with your name on it." Rivet laughed and beckoned.

              The skinny woman didn't twitch a muscle, just kept staring. Behind us, a woman's low voice said mournfully, "To the children, our only future now."

              I reeled, bumping into Jennie and spilling my wine. She spun as well and accidentally smacked Rivet in the jaw with her elbow. The three of us had stepped forward while calling out to Abby, leaving Theo a few steps back. He looked at all of us in surprise, a fresh Oreo halfway to his mouth.

              "What?"

              "What did you say?" I asked.

              "Nuthin."

              "Some trick, changing your voice around like that." Rivet barked a brief, dour laugh. "You're something else, kid." He drained his glass and stepped over to the counter to refill it.

              The slosh of pouring wine was deafening, and I realized that the music had stopped. Jennie must have realized it, too, because she skipped to the kitchen table and flipped the cassette around and mashed play. While the bouncy intro of "Margaritaville" chased away the stifling silence, I caught a glimpse of Abby again far away in the living room. She relaxed against the sofa back and I swear, for the specter of a moment, a flickering smile played across her lips, and then Rivet had me by the arm and twirling across the kitchen floor, crooning, "
...wastiiing away again in Margaritaville, searchin' for myyy lost shaker of salt...
"

              I woke up on the living room couch under a load of bricks, head heavier than two-ton rebar and stomach doing somersaults. Shoving the blanketed weight off, I staggered to the bathroom and heaved before I remembered that the toilets didn't flush, then sat there for a good five minutes staring at the pink goop sticking to the porcelain until the white tile walls stopped spinning around me and the morning light stopped trying to claw out my eyes and I remembered who had been under the blankets with me on the couch.

              "Shit."

              I slammed the toilet lid down and forced myself not to crawl all the way back to the living room. When I got there, I shook three white pills from the ever-present orange landfill on the coffee table, swallowed them, and stared for another five minutes at the lumpy shape on the couch.

              "Shit."

              What was I going to tell Rivet? How had this even happened? The last thing I remembered was dancing with Jennie in the living room, "Margaritaville" on the fourth or fifth hundred repeat, stumbling over the empty wine bottles littering the kitchen floor, while Rivet taught Theo and an impassive Abby how to pretend to pull their thumbs off using their other thumb.

              And then this. Shit. After Rivet and I had finally gotten over our bullshit spat and begun acting like friends again, I fucking slept with Jennie.

              "God damnit, Ray. You shithead."

              I looked up at Jennie standing in the angle between the foyer and hallway entrances. Her hair was mussed to shit and she was rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand.

              "You!" I exclaimed.

              "Of course me, who the hell else?" Jennie began picking through the prescription bottles.

              "Then who..." I pointed to the couch.

              "Abby, you asshole. We were dancing, and all of a sudden you came and sat beside her and wouldn't stop talking. Real one-sided conversation, I gotta say." Jennie huffed. I breathed a sigh of relief, which seemed to annoy Jennie even more. She stomped out of the room. Why was she mad? Did she fight with Rivet?

              The Vicodin I'd taken was beginning to settle into my system, making it easier to function. I realized I was ravenous. I also realized, again to my relief, that I was wearing all my clothes from the night before. Then nothing had really happened. As I walked to the kitchen, the night began to come back in fragmented pieces. Abby had been telling me about her children, and I'd passed out on her. Just a normal end to a night of partying. It had happened to me a million times.

              I was dumping a can of pears into a bowl in the kitchen when I froze, the empty tin can still dripping juice into the bowl.

              Abby had been telling me about her children.

              I raced back into the living room and pulled the blanket away. Abby opened her eyes slowly, yawned, and fixed her gaze on me.

              "You were talking last night," I said. It wasn't a question, just a statement. Abby stretched and watched me in silence. "Tell me you were," I insisted. "I know you were, just say it."

              Silence.

              "Why won't you talk? What happened to you?"

              Blood. Chains. Laughter.

              "What is this? Your daughters' names are Alice and Sissy—short for Cecilia. They're seven and nine. Alice has asthma. You told me that. Why won't you talk now?"

              Still under the blanket, Abby reached up and touched my arm. It was a strange gesture, not compassionate in the least. It almost felt like she was pleading for me to drop the issue. She shook her head gently.

              "No, tell me. Why won't you talk to anyone?"