One Bloody Thing After Another (6 page)

Ann and Margaret. Charlie can't tell how old anyone is anymore. These girls are coming home from school, though. Sisters with dark hair. Julia kept her hair long like that, when she was their age. She cut it all off in high school, though. Mortified her mother.

“What's its name?” the younger girl, Margaret, asks, scratching Mitchie behind his ear. “Oh, it's old!” she says, looking back at her sister. Margaret scratches him again, and Mitchie loves it. Two minutes ago he couldn't even be bothered to wait for Charlie to finish his
TV
show. He had to go right now. Had to go out. Come on, Charlie. We have to go. We have to go. Scratch scratch at the door. But now Mitchie just wags his fat little tail, loving every minute of the attention. Stupid little bastard.

“Mitchie,” Charlie says. “His name's Mitchie.” The older girl, Ann, is just staring at him. There's something a little spooky about the girls, but Charlie can't put his finger on it. Everything's spooky these days. A headless woman in the lobby, haunting them from beyond the grave. A creepy little girl isn't going to make much difference.

“It's old,” Margaret says again, about Mitchie, and Charlie resists the urge to defend his friend's honor. Sure Mitchie's old. So what's wrong with that? “How long do dogs normally live, anyway?” she asks Charlie.

“You shouldn't talk to strangers,” he tells the girl.

“Whatever,” she says. She gives Mitchie one last scratch and then she stands up, and the two girls keep walking. Charlie watches them go, but Mitchie is already pulling on his leash toward the woods.

“You sure can pick 'em, Mitch,” Charlie says.

The creepy girls are gone, and Charlie bends down to unhook Mitchie's leash. He watches his friend scramble up into the woods. The fat little dog can't run very well, but he gives it his all. He's old, sure, but get him out in the underbrush, and Mitchie takes off as fast as he can. He's still got plenty of life in him. Charlie's half certain that one of these days the little guy will run blindly into a tree trunk.
Thunk!
But it hasn't happened yet.

Mitchie runs out of sight, and Charlie lets him go. He stands there, listening to the sounds of traffic on the main road. Car, car, car, and the occasional bus. One of these days, he's gonna take Mitchie on a longer walk, like they used to go on. They'll walk up to the frog pond, by the water tower. Mitchie used to go nuts on the edge of the frog pond, when every few feet a startled frog would splash into the water. Or they could go down to the Northwest Arm. Mitchie could use some salt air. Probably they both could.

Charlie sits down on the wall that runs along the sidewalk, and he waits. When enough time has gone by, he calls out.

“Mitchie, come on.”

He stands up, and wipes dust off his ass.

“Come on now, Mitchie, that headless monstrosity needs our help again today.” Nothing.

“Mitchie, it's time to eat. Let's go!”

And finally there's a rustling in the bushes, and here comes Mitchie, sniffing the air, blinking those cloudy eyes, smiling at Charlie. Charlie bends down and hooks his leash on, and Mitchie pushes his warm, dry nose into Charlie's palm, and they start for home.

Today there's a bloody handprint on the glass of the front door. But the mailman is coming out just as they arrive, and he doesn't seem to see it. So Charlie figures it belongs to the ghost. And there she is.

On the other side of the glass, she holds her own head in her hands, as calm as ever. Her face is expressionless. Today her dress is dark with stains. Black stains around the neck, like her head had just been removed. This is new.

Mitchie is stuck in the corner again.

“Hey, look who it is,” Charlie says. He gives a tug on the leash, trying to get Mitchie turned around. “Okay, we're ready,” he says to her when they get inside. “Lead the way, madam.” And Mitchie and Charlie follow her down the hall.

“Where do you suppose we're going today, Mitchie?” Charlie asks. “The vending machine? The
TV
room?” And when the ghost stops in front of room
135
, he pretends to be surprised. “But, this is where Mrs. Richards lives!” he says. Mitchie sits down and tries to scratch himself behind the ear. Charlie knocks.

Mrs. Richards looks tired. She answers the door and she looks so tired that Charlie forgets the funny line he has prepared. He wishes he'd just left her alone today, or that he could reassure her, touch her shoulder, but the ghost is raising its arm, now, pointing at the woman with an incomprehensible certainty, and Charlie has no idea what to do but make jokes the way he always does.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Richards,” Charlie says. “Sorry about all the barking last night. You know how Mitchie gets on a full moon.” Mitchie's walking around in a slow circle now, at the end of his leash. He stops suddenly and he just falls over on his side for a nap. No grace at all, that dog.

“I didn't hear any barking last night,” Mrs. Richards says.

“Well, you're one of the lucky ones,” Charlie tells her. “He's a little hellion, that one.” He looks down at his dog, to make his point, and he can't help smiling at the sight of Mitchie's tongue all rolled out of his head. Poor little bastard. All tuckered out from his run in the woods. “Anyway, I'm here about the headless pointing woman,” Charlie said. “You probably guessed. She is there every day when I come back from my walk, and she leads me down the hallway to your door and right now she's just standing there pointing at you. You know I wouldn't bother you about this, except it is
every day
that this has been happening.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Martha Richards says. “I mean, really, Charles. That sounds like a personal problem.” But she doesn't close the door like usual. She's looking where Charlie said the ghost was, like she wants to see her, but can't.

The next day, Margaret and Ann wait in the woods.

“Please . . .” Ann says, “we don't have to do this.” She picks at one of the tears in her jeans. She has no idea when they tore. It doesn't matter. “We can just buy some rats or something at the pet store.”

“With what money?” Margaret says. She clears her throat. “Rats are too small anyway.”

Here comes Mitchie, trotting along. Margaret crouches and holds her hand out for him like she has food. He hasn't noticed the girls yet.

“Hey dog,” Margaret says, and his ears perk up when he hears her voice. She's got a burlap sack in her other hand. Margaret coughs suddenly. She clears her throat. Then clears it again. She swallows.

“You are not okay,” Ann says.

“I'm fine,” her sister says. “Just let it go.” Mitchie is smiling now, panting. “Here, fella,” Margaret calls. And when Mitchie gets close enough, Margaret takes the burlap sack and she scoops him up. In the sack, Mitchie doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't know he's being stolen. It feels like he's being hugged. His fat little tail just wags harder.

When Mitchie doesn't come back from the woods, Charlie goes in after him. He walks around in circles for an hour, calling out for his stupid dog. At first he's sure that Mitchie just hasn't heard him.

“Mitchie! God damn it. Mitchie!” And then Charlie thinks maybe old Mitchie found two trees pressed up against each other and got stuck in the corner where they met. That happened once.

But after a while, Charlie gets to thinking that maybe Mitchie just found somewhere to fall down and die. He doesn't want to think this, but there it is. That day has been coming. Charlie knows it. He's known it for a while. But he likes to think that it's coming for the both of them.

And Mitchie wouldn't just die somewhere off in the woods. He'd want to be with Charlie. He would wait until it was just him and Charlie somewhere, and he would die with his snout in Charlie's hand.

After an hour of yelling and walking in circles, Charlie goes home. Maybe Mitchie's back there now, stuck in the corner outside the front door. Charlie can already picture his friend stuck in the corner like always, and he walks faster. The building is lit up in the early evening sunset, and he knows Mitchie is waiting there for him. Charlie gets to the door and pulls it open. But there's no Mitchie in the lobby. There's no Mitchie inside, either. Only that headless thing.

The ghost is standing in the doorway, already moving its mouth, but Charlie walks right past. There is no way he's going to follow it down the hall to Mrs. Richards' room. She always has something to say about Mitchie. She always has some opinion. And Charlie doesn't want to hear it. The ghost follows him to the elevator, but he ignores it.

The doors open, and he steps inside, alone.

“God damn it, Mitch,” Charlie says.

Ann and Jackie meet outside of school, before the first bell. Ann looks like she hasn't slept in days. She doesn't have her backpack. She's wearing those same torn jeans.

“I can't go in,” Ann says. She looks like she wants to say more, but she doesn't. Jackie doesn't know what to do. Did she go too far, asking Ann out? Is that why she's upset?

“Why not?” Jackie says.

Ann shrugs her shoulders. “Let's do something else,” she says.

So they get back on the bus and go downtown. On the bus, Ann just looks out the window. She doesn't say anything. Well, that won't do. Jackie is determined to show her a good time.

Downtown Jackie sees the cop who arrested her. He's crossing the street, and doesn't see her. Jackie takes Ann's hand.

“I have an idea,” she says. They find a drugstore.

When the cop who arrested Jackie walks underneath them, Jackie's ready. He has his hat in his hand like a real gentleman, and the two girls are on the pedestrian bridge, perched like squirrels. He is all alone. Jackie is not afraid.

“Hey officer!” she calls. He stops and squints up, shielding his eyes against the sun. He smiles blindly, and Jackie lifts the bag of water balloons up by the bottom and dumps them down toward his head. They're all different colors, red and green and yellow and blue and white, and they fall in slow motion. God knows what he must be thinking.

It must look like a miracle.

“Eat it!” Jackie yells.

They burst against his face. They burst on his shoulder and his arms. He drops his hat. Jackie and Ann run like hell. They find an office building with a huge revolving door, and they push into it together. Jackie is laughing. They run up the escalator, pushing past men and women who can't stop frowning in their ugly suits.

“Oh, hello, Janet. How was your vacation?”

“Not long enough, Steve. Not long enough.”

Upstairs, they push the button for the elevator, and then they wait calmly. Ten. Nine. Eight. The elevator is taking its time, but there's no rush. It was the perfect crime. It was the right spot to hit the cop. He had no way to chase them. Ann doesn't look scared, either.

“Lovely weather, don't you think?” Jackie says to a tall woman in a delivery uniform. She has small gold earrings that Jackie thinks are subtle and very nice.

“Oh yes,” she says. They ride the elevator up with her.

“Lovely weather,” Jackie says again to the delivery woman. That's just about the extent of her business-person water-cooler vocabulary. She tries to think of something else. “Annual reports!” Jackie laughs. “Liquidation! Annual shareholders!” She can't stop laughing. She puts her face against the wall and she just shakes. The delivery woman smiles.

“Stock options,” the delivery woman says. “Severance packages. Resume cv cover letters.”

“Libel suit!” Jackie says.

Then the door is open again. It is time to run like hell again. Across pedways, into other buildings, into the mall, down through the parking lot. They make their way to the park. They're just like everyone else, now. They're blocks away, and out of breath. So they sit down under the hanging branches of a tree.

“Eat it!” Jackie says. “Oh man.” It was so perfect. She feels good again. It feels good to run. The sun is shining and there's a cool breeze on her face. On days like this, it doesn't seem real that she sometimes sees her mother's ghost. It doesn't seem so bad. It fades like a bad dream. The world is bright and warm and soft and green. The school year is almost over. Two squirrels are chasing each other around a tree trunk like maniacs.

There's a big group of pigeons and Jackie climbs up on top of a picnic table. The pigeons are all pushed together, fighting for a slice of pizza. Jackie jumps up into the air, with her wings out wide. Look at that wingspan!

“Caw caw!” she yells in midair, and they all take flight at once. Jackie has the largest wingspan. She is the queen of the pigeons. That pizza slice is hers, if she wants to claim it, but it's enough to know that she could. She sits back down. Ann isn't laughing or smiling. She looks tired again.

A woman with a small child comes over and stands in front of Jackie.

“Why did you have to scare those pigeons?” she says. “Did that make you feel big? Did it make you feel strong? Don't you have any respect? We have to share the world with nature, you know.” And it seems like she's saying all this as much for her son, who is chewing his thumb, as for Jackie. But before Jackie can reply, Ann is laughing. She laughs and laughs, and when the woman tries to say something else, Ann only laughs harder.

Ann has come over to do homework, but they haven't been to school, so there's no homework today. The two girls wait until Jackie's father is in his study, reading, and then they get their jackets on. First the left arm, then the right arm. It feels like everything is important. Today's the day. Tonight's the night. Jackie is going to get the girl, even though she's the awkward teen. She's the nerdy virgin in a sex comedy who only wants kisses.