Shut The Fuck Up And Die! (9 page)

“
Wake up, girlie. Wake up, for Mary . .
. wake up, now.”

Wrinkled fingers snapped in front of Mona’s
face and the sound seemed to be the final peg needed to hold her
hazy picture of reality together. Though her head felt like wet
cement had been funneled in through her ears, she could hear Matt’s
voice somewhere close by. It was nothing more than a moan . . . the
same one, in fact, that she’d heard countless times following an
all-night drinking binge. She looked toward the sound and the
movement made her skull feel as if her brain had just slammed into
her forehead. She could feel it thudding there, just behind the
ridge of her brow, and the dull ache coaxed a queasy gurgle from
her stomach.

Matt was sitting in what looked to be an old
dining room chair. His ankles were bound to the wooden legs so
tightly that it almost seemed as if the rope were burrowing into
his jeans and his hands had been pulled behind the slatted back,
presumably tied as well. His head hung forward so that his bangs
were in his eyes and his chin practically rested on his chest, but
she could see and hear him smacking his lips as if his mouth were
filled with the same thick saliva that flooded hers.

“
That’s a good girl. Wakey, wakey . . .
.”

Mona snapped her head back and glared at the
old woman, despite the needles of pain that jabbed into her temples
as she squinted her eyes. She opened her mouth, intent on spitting
out a slew of curses, but the anger somehow got mired in the thick
slush clogging her synapses, and all that came out was a dry
croak.

Mary smiled and smoothed her yellow dress as
her eyes scanned the smooth skin of Mona’s arms, lingering on them
the way a construction worker might ogle the curves of her ass.
Behind her round spectacles, something flared within her eyes and
she ran the tip of her tongue across her lips.

“
The boys have done gone for your car.
But don’t fret over that. They’ll make sure ain’t nobody never
gonna find it, girlie.”

Mona’s muscles tensed and she tried to lunge
forward; but coarse ropes bit into the soft flesh of her wrists and
the legs of the chair she was tied to didn’t so much as scrape
against the floorboards. The sudden movement, however, caused bile
to shoot up into the back of her throat as the world swam in and
out of focus.

“
Ain’t you just the cutest thing? They
all fight, at first. Like a coupla cats in a sack. But after a
spell, ‘ole Mary has a way of takin’ that fight plum out of ‘em.
You’ll see.”

She reached forward with an open hand and
tried to push a lock of dark hair away from Mona’s face, but the
younger woman snapped her teeth like a viscous dog on the end of a
leash. Mary snatched her hand away and frowned as she shook her
head.

“
Well, I declare . . . . Just like a
scared, little animal caught in the hunter’s big, bad trap. I
reckon you’ll need housebreakin’, Mary will hafta show you your
place, girlie.”

“
Old woman . . . .”

Though it was as thick and mumbled as someone
in the throes of sleep, the voice that had spoken was unmistakably
Matt’s.

“
. . . you let us go now and maybe
we’ll forget any of this ever happened.”

Mary cackled and strolled over to where he
was tied. She squatted down on the balls of her feet so she could
look him directly in the eyes and pursed her lips for a moment.

“
Boy,” she finally said, “I don’t
reckon you rightly understand the situation.”

Her hand slipped into the pocket of her dress
and reemerged with a silver handled knife. She turned it slowly,
allowing the light to glint on the short blade.

“
But you will . . . soon
enough.”

The fog that clouded Mona’s vision seemed to
be lifting somewhat and she could now make out details of the room
they were in. Pushed against one wall was a simple sleigh bed whose
sagging mattress was draped with a comforter decorated with pink
roses. Various, mismatched pillows were propped at the head of the
bed and a glass of water sat on a night stand off to the side. The
walls were lined with faded photographs and, on the opposite side
of the room, was a closed door. Beside the door was a scarred and
beaten desk that had scrapbooking supplies piled onto its surface
and she suspected at least one of their chairs had been taken from
this work area. Across from the desk was a window covered with what
looked like yellowed cheese-cloth; the fabric was so thin that Mona
could see pine trees outside and a hint of sky that was just
beginning to lighten with the coming of dawn. Which meant that
they’d been knocked out for quite some time.

Swiveling her head in the other direction,
Mona saw an open door leading into a dimly lit hallway. She could
just make out the top of the stairs and a glass case that stood
against the wall. Inside the case hung a compound bow wrapped in
camouflage tape and the razor-like tips of arrows gleamed like the
smiles of demons.

Mona’s heart forgot to beat for a moment as
she stared into the hallway. If there were only some way to get
those feathered rods of death in her tingling hands . . . .

“
Tell you what, sonny . . . you can
watch as I take some of the fight outta your little hussy over
there.”

Mary jabbed the knife in Mona’s direction,
but her cold eyes never strayed from Matt’s face.

“
Such pretty, delicate skin . . .
she’ll open up just like a ripe slicin’ tomato, I bet. And she’ll
bleed for ‘ole Mary. Oh yes, you can take that to the bank, boy.
And after you’ve had your fill of her screamin’ and cryin’ and
beggin’ for me to stop . . . after she looks like she’s done run
plum through a barb wire fence . . . then you talk to me about
lettin’ the two of ya go.”

“
I swear to God, if you fuckin’ lay a
finger on her . . . .”

Mary laughed again, her voice drowning out
the rest of Matt’s threat.

“
I ain’t feared of you, boy. Only
reason I haven’t done it already is I promised Earl Ray he could
lay with this little whore before she’s been all cut up and
bruised. He’s such a good boy. Unlike that half wit brother of his.
But maybe Daryl will have a go at her, too. If’n he spends ten
minutes in a dark closet first.”

Mary slapped her leg and chuckled as if some
sort of joke had been made; but Matt’s face was as hard and
immovable as if it had been cut from stone. He stared straight
ahead silently while taking slow breaths through his nose. His jaw
was clenched so tightly that Mona could almost hear his teeth
grinding against one another and his pupils had shrank to mere
pinpoints. In all respects, he looked like a totally different man
now; gone was the young newly wed who was as quick with a smile as
he was a joke. In his place, sat some hulking creature whose girth
seemed to grow with each slow, measure breath.

Mary wiped a tear from the corner of her eye,
but the grin that had been plastered across her face faded as she
noticed this new countenance. Blinking several times, she chewed on
the inside of her cheek as she stood back up.

“
You ain’t right, boy. There’s
somethin’ about you . . . .”

Her voice was so low that it seemed as if she
were talking more to herself than her prisoner.

“
You got that same look in your eye
‘ole Smoky got that time he was bit by that rabid coon.”

Mary glanced at Mona and then back to Matt
again. For the first time, she seemed uncertain of herself: her
movements were less fluid now and the halting manner in which she
approached Matt seemed to suggest indecision.

“
You’re a dangerous one . . . . You’d
really die for that little piece of tail, wouldn’t ya? Lotsa folks
say they would . . . but when it comes right down to it, all they
really care ‘bout is their own hide. But not you. You’d really do
it, boy.”

The last sentence was not a question.

After a moment of silence, Mary nodded her
head as if in agreement to some argument only she could hear.

“
Don’t have no real use for you,
anyhows. ‘Cept for just plain fun.”

She circled around the chair Matt was tied to
like a predator closing in on prey that had been brought down, but
not incapacitated. Standing directly behind him, she looked at her
own reflection in the blade of the knife and nodded once again.

She bent her arm so that it was angled around
Matt’s neck and pressed the blade of the paring knife against the
bulging vein in his throat.

“
I reckon I should put you down just
like I did ‘ole Smokey.”

Mona tried to scream, but her voice got stuck
in a hard little knot somewhere behind her vocal chords. It was as
if she were still in the clutches of whatever drug Mary had used on
them: paralyzed by the thought of losing the only person she had
ever truly given a damn about, Mona could only sit and watch as her
new husband’s blood trickled slowly from the wound.

SCENE SEVEN

By the time Earl and Daryl had finished tying
the unconscious bodies to the chairs, the snow was falling so
heavily that the windshield of the truck had already been buried
beneath several inches of accumulation. It fell from the sky in wet
clumps that seemed too large to be considered flakes and made the
pine forest surrounding the old farm house look like a snow globe
that had been vigorously shaken by God. Daryl had taken an old
broom and whisked away enough slush that the wipers would be able
to do their job; but even on the highest setting, Earl still had to
lean forward and peer through the streaks of moisture on the
windshield as the truck rumbled along the road. The headlights cut
through the darkness and illuminated the white specks racing toward
them, but only his familiarity with the snow-covered road kept the
vehicle from easing off the buried asphalt and onto the graveled
shoulder.

“
You know what it puts me in mind of,
Earl?” Daryl asked. “Star Wars. Right when the Millennium Falcon
jumps into light speed. Don’t it you?”

“
I’ll knock you into light speed if ya
don’t stop flappin’ those gums.”

Daryl slumped in his seat and folded his arms
across his chest like a reprimanded child. He watched the snow
tunneling toward the truck from beneath a heavily furrowed brow and
stole quick glances at his brother. Earl clutched the steering
wheel like it was the grip on the Strength-O-Meter down at The Crow
Bar; his knuckles were so white that it almost seemed as if the
bone were attempting to burst through them and he ground his teeth
together with each slight correction of the wheel.

“
Don’t see why you got to be so mean.”
Daryl finally mumbled. “Just tryin’ to pass the time and
all.”

Earl took a breath through his nose and held
it for a moment. He was too tired to argue with his brother: the
exertion of the day had already made his eyes feel as if pieces of
grit had been blown into them and his back throbbed from sitting in
the truck for so long. All he wanted was to take care of the job at
hand, go back home, and climb into his nice, warm bed. He sighed
deeply and shook his head in an attempt to clear away some of the
fatigue that clung like cobwebs in his mind.

“
Just don’t let Mama hear you talkin’
stuff like that. You know she don’t like it. You’ll end up down in
the cellar again, you mark my words.”

Daryl straightened with a smile, almost as if
he’d just received some sort of praise. Rubbing his eyes with his
fists, he decided not to press the matter any further.

“
How you reckon we’ll be able to find
that car? I ain’t seen it come down like this since the blizzard of
’91.”

“
I got a pretty good idea ‘bout where
it’s at. When you was talkin’ to those folks, it sounded like they
wrecked right around the same place you and me saw that bear that
time. Hard part’s gonna be figurin’ out what to do with the damn
thing. I reckon Sunderson Pond is about froze over. We can try and
sink it, but it might not even break the ice.”

Daryl pinched his bottom lip as he listened
to the windshield wipers slap out their frantic rhythm.

“
What about the old Crouse place?” he
finally said.

“
What about it?”

“
Ain’t no one lived there goin’ on
seven years now. Remember how they had all them old cars out in the
barn? We could just tow it out there and set the dang place on
fire. By the time anybody showed up, they’d think it was just
another one of them old cars all burned up and shit.”

Earl arched his eyebrows and nodded at
Daryl.

“
Ya know, little brother, sometimes you
ain’t half bad.”

Daryl’s jaw dropped and he struggled to find
words; but they seemed to get lodged in the lump that bobbed in his
throat. His eyes stung with tears and he quickly looked past his
own reflection in the passenger window and watched the snow-covered
world scroll by. After a moment, he simply decided to say nothing:
Earl’s words were literally the nicest thing anyone had ever said
to him . . . and he didn’t want to give his brother any reason to
take the compliment back.

Forty minutes later, they finally spotted the
wrecked car. They’d driven by this same spot nearly five times; but
on this pass, the high beams had caught the tail lights of the
Honda and made them glow like the eyes of a deer in a
spotlight.

Earl steered the truck carefully over the
embankment and made minute adjustments as the wheels slipped and
slid in a mixture of snow and mud. Within minutes, he’d backed the
truck so close to the car that the bumpers were nearly touching.
Before Earl had even shifted into park, Daryl already had the
flashlight in his hands. It’s beam glared off the windshield and he
took a deep breath as he prepared to step into the darkness. As
long as he had the Mag Lite, however, everything would be fine:
though he’d never admit it to Earl (and certainly not to Mama) he
liked to pretend that the beam was a lightsaber. With such a
powerful weapon in his hands, darkness would be held at bay. True,
he sometimes felt silly when these little fantasies took over his
imagination . . . but, as he knew so well, there were far worse
things than feeling like a grown man playing childish games.