The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) (17 page)

“How?”

“My brother, Cairen, he is a part of a gang,
the Allie
. He is the leader and I am next in line for the throne,” she says.

“Throne?” I smirk.

“Figure of speech, dork. My brother is in charge of the gang, he runs it. Trenton is a member.”

“He is envious,” I say as it sinks in.

“Yes. He wants the position.”

“But he can’t have it, because after your brother, you take on the gang? Yes?”

“Correct. Cairen will resign his position to me when he comes of age. Trenton could never kill him off anyway, guess he thought it would be an easy task to remove me from the picture, only he didn’t count on you waking up and saving me.”

“A gang? Like with guns? Does your brother kill people?” I ask.

“I just told you that Trenton wants to
murder
me, and you are more concerned on the details of the gang?”

“I guess we all have someone who wants to kill us right? No biggie,” I reply.

“Yes
biggie
. This isn’t Miemah we are talking about here. Trenton is trained to fight. Miemah is like a loose rocket, but Trenton has direction.”

“This is too much to take in all at once,” I say and stare at her fingers, waiting for them to release my arm.

“Please, stop, you are hurting me,” I say because she doesn’t get the hint.

“Ooh sorry. I am just so…frightened,” she says, letting go of my arm.

“Your brother is the leader, so why can’t he deal with Trenton?”

“It is against the Allie Rule Book. The Allie has a book of written rules that we all must abide to. Never kill another Allie without reasonable cause. We share each other’s blood. A bond that can only be severed through…death.”

“It’s clear that Trenton burned you, isn’t that a good enough reason to kill him?” I say.

“So, Cairen can kill him-,” I begin. “
Never mind
.”

“Can’t believe you just suggested that,” she says.

“It seems so easy. Like he isn’t Trenton, just some boy who tried to kill you. Like Miemah…” I bite my tongue.

“I could never kill a person,” she says.

I could
, I think.
I will have to
.

“I bet it’s easier than you think. Look at Miemah. She practically murdered me and thought nothing of it.”

“I’m not mental, Bailey, and I don’t get off on the act of torturing someone.”

“So, what do you do in the Allie? And how come I’ve never heard of it before?” I ask.

Ashten fixes her blankets, and clears her throat. “Drug dealing, stealing, murder, that kind of thing. Ya’ know typical gang violence. And I don’t know…maybe because it’s in Fort Myers, not a lot of Cape Coral kids have heard of it.”

Murder?
The Allie sounds anything but typical.

Mom walks in, a halfhearted smile on her face, pushing my wheelchair.

“Hey girls, how is it going?” she asks.

“You say a word to anyone and I will strangle you!”
Ashten whispers to me.

“Everything’s fine Mom, we just slept and watched cartoons.”

“Well I’m going to sleep some more,” Ashten says, hugging me goodbye. “Sleeping is my favorite thing to do.”

I blink at her, trying to comprehend:
How does one sleep when they know it could be their final rest?

“Mom, do you believe in heaven?” I ask when we are out of Ashten’s room.

“Why do you ask that?” she says.

“If you die, where does your soul go? Heaven, right?”

“I don’t think so, Bailey,” she says with hesitation.

“Mom, where do you go?”

“Heaven isn’t real. When you die… it’s like when you pull the plug on a television, it just stops working. The TV is there, and you can imagine what the shows look like on it, but the screen is black.”

“If I died, what would my mind think? Would it be lost in darkness?” I ask, shivering from the thought of having to live inside my dark head for all eternity.

“Probably, but then again, you wouldn’t be able to think.”

“I believe in heaven,” I say. “I believe in angels, I believe there is a hell, I believe in it all. Want to know why?”

“Why?” she asks.

“
Because we need angels to protect us and guide us, and we need hell to serve as a prison for those who lead a bad life, and we need heaven so that people like me, who are afraid of the dark, don’t have to exist in it ever again when they pass on
.”

Chapter 23

Dad was a Christian. Mom was once a Catholic. Dad killed somebody. Mom died inside. They both lost faith.

Every Sunday morning, Mom would curl my hair, tie it with ribbons, and we would go to church. I was too young to understand what the preacher was rambling on about, but from what I could absorb, I was able to come to the conclusion that bad people go to hell, and good people go to heaven. I got the idea in my head that if I was a good person, I would fall upon good fortune.

Boy was I wrong
.

The truth is, life is like a bag of Chex Mix: every handful uncertain, each scoop a little different. I expected my life to be fated, every year, every month, and every second of every day, set in stone, like the Ten Commandments. I have come to the realization that every day is a tossup; I could get hit by a bus, struck by lightning,
or my head bashed in by a demonic girl.
The only stable belief I have is that when the torture is through, and my body gives out, my soul can rest in heaven,
with God
.

“Are you excited to get home and play with Angel?” Mom asks, helping me dress.

“I owe Clad a new hoodie,” I say, remembering that it was stained with blood, and cut from my body when I was brought into the emergency room.

“You are so silly,” Mom says while packing up my gifts.

“Yes, I am excited to see Angel. And eat real food.”

“If you mean ramen noodles, and Spaghetti O’s? I hate to break it to you, Bailey, but that is not real food,” she says.

“It tastes more real than anything I’ve tried to stomach here.”

“The doctor will be in soon. Go and put your shirt on,” Mom says.

I walk to the bathroom by myself, unchained from wires and plastic tubes. I take a good look in the mirror, and greet this new girl that I have become.
Pale skin, dark circles under my eyes, hair lackluster, teeth yellow from not being brushed in days, and bones poking out from beneath my skin.

“You will look better once you’ve been back home for a while,” Mom says, catching me staring at myself.

“I’m gross,” I say, and pull my shirt on to hide my ribs.

“No, you were in the hospital, stop beating yourself up for how you look; you have come a long way. The doctors and nurses are amazed with how quickly you recovered.”

“Yes we are,” the doctor says jumping into the conversation. “Children heal in a way that is quite astonishing, as if they have been dipped in The Fountain of Youth. You just never know.”

“What were you expecting? For me to become an invalid?” I say bitingly.

“Close to it,” he responds, and picks at the latex of his glove.

“God must have had other plans,” he says with an impertinent smile.

Mom discreetly rolls her eyes. “God had nothing to do with it,” she says audaciously. “Do you really think if God had anything to do with what happened to my daughter that he would have let her head break? That he would make her go through so much pain?”

“I didn’t mean to offend-” The Doctor begins.

“Where was God when my daughter was lying in a pool of her own blood?” she snaps.

Has she been drinking?

“You will have to excuse my mom, she is insane,” I say, and pull her away before she can claw at him like a scratching post. “Do you happen to have a straitjacket or room with padded walls? I bet that would make her feel right at home!”

Mom pushes me gently into the chair that she has been sleeping in for the past week.

“I just don’t think you should bring God into this. She got well on her own accord,” Mom says snippily.

“Well, just the same, I am glad to see you up and on your feet, Bailey,” he says to me in aside. “I brought you a wheelchair. It is by the door, and you can leave as soon as the nurse gets here and your mom finishes up signing the last of the release papers.”

“Thank you,” I say, and shake his gloved hand before he departs.

“You take care,” he says while keeping one eye on Mom.

“Are you out of your mind?”
I ask Mom, once the doctor is out of earshot.

“Don’t be fresh with me, Bailey,” she says.

“He was just wishing me well!”

“Enough!” she says and pulls out a cigarette.

I snatch it from her hand and break it in two before she can light it.

“If we weren’t in the hospital, and you weren’t ill, I would slap you,” she says, staring at the broken cigarette.

A nurse is waiting patiently by the door; I don’t know for how long she has been standing there or how much of Mom’s threat she has heard.

“I knew it!” I yell at Mom. “You are still the same abusive person you’ve always been! Alcohol or not.”

I sit in the wheelchair, aware that Mom will not hit me in front of the nurse.

“Okay, are you ready, sweetie?” the nurse asks.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” I say.

“Ma’am, smoking is not allowed in the hospital,” the nurse says as she is pushing me down the hallway. Mom is lighting up a second cigarette.

“Oh screw you!” Mom says. “We will be outside in a second.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to put out that cigarette right away or I will call security. And I bet the doctor would like to hear about your threat to hit your daughter.”

“Threat?” I ask. “
More like a promise
.”

“We have a word for your kind Mrs. Sykes:
child abuser
. You know what happens to parents who abuse their children?”

“Oh I wasn’t going to hit her!” she huffs, and tosses the cigarette in the trash. “And that’s two words. It’s a wonder you ever made it out of medical school!”

“My mom is an alcoholic,” I say to the nurse. “She hasn’t drank in a week, and I guess it must be getting to her.”

“I can speak for myself, thank you,” Mom says.

“I’ll take it from here,” she says, jerking the wheel chair from the nurse’s hands, and all but flinging me out of it.

The nurse glares at her, but says nothing.

“Let’s go, kid,” Mom says. We walk to the car and I hesitantly step into the passenger side.

“Remember Ma’am,” the nurse says, leaning her head in the driver’s side window. “You can go to jail for-”

“Move it before I run your feet over,” Mom screeches, and speeds away from the hospital, narrowly missing the nurse.

“You make me look like I am some kind of fool!” she barks, her hand coming down across my cheek.

Just like old times
.

My fingers shoot to the welt that is forming, and my eyes begin to water.

“You are!” I scream at her, hiding my tears. “You
are
an idiot, and an ignorant person, to keep hitting me and think you will get away with it!”

She raises her hand again.

“Do it! I fucking dare you, Mom. I will call the police on you quicker than you can light a cigarette.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Mom says coolly.

“Just leave me alone,” I cry at her. With shaky hands I find Spencer’s quilt in my hospital bag, and bury my face in it. “Leave me alone!”

“Wipe your tears; I have a surprise waiting for you at home,” she says unexpectedly.

“No,” I say.

“Bailey, we have guests!”

“Good, let them see what you have done.”

“Bailey!”

“No!”

I yank my head out of the blanket to show her my swollen cheek, which I bet will be bruised by tomorrow morning.

“Please?” she begs me.

“No, I’m upset, and hurt why shouldn’t I cry? You made me. You think I wanted to get hit, and burst into tears the minute I left the hospital? I just wanted to go home and be with you. I know I am the real fool, Mom, because I always forgive you, always think you will change.”

“I will change, honey, it just takes time,” she says, wringing her hands over the steering wheel.

“No, it will never happen. You will kill me before that happens.”

We are at the apartment. Spencer’s black truck is parked in the lot, as is Clad’s navy blue Toyota.

“Oh great, Spencer will have a field day when he sees my face.”

“I can put makeup on it,” Mom offers.

“No. I want them to see.”

Mom’s forehead is throbbing, her eyes shooting bullets.

“Beat me,” I say. “Go ahead.”

“Don’t tempt me like that,” she says and slams the car door.

I wipe most of my tears away with the back of my hand. My head is hammering, and my eyes sting from the blazing sun.

When Mom opens the door, everyone cheers, happy to see me.

I burst into tears and run to the bathroom.

“Um, the morphine is wearing off. She is in a lot of pain,” Mom says.

I peel off my clothing and step into the shower, careful to not get my cast wet.

I start off standing, but as the water becomes hotter, I slide further and further down into the tub until I am drowning in the sudsy water, my arm cast hanging over the edge.

Wash away the pain and the hurt and the broken expectations.

I stay submerged until I feel my lungs might burst from the lack of oxygen and my mind goes fuzzy.

“Are you okay?” Spencer’s sweet voice reaches me through the water that is filling my ears and mouth, gaging me.

“Do you want me to come in?”

“No,” I gurgle.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Spencer,” I say.

“Aww, Bailey, let me in. It’s not the medicine, is it?” he whispers.

“No it’s not.”

I turn the faucet off, and then I stand on my quivering legs and wrap myself in a towel.

“Come in,” I say. Spencer rushes through the door.

“Where?” he asks as soon as the door is shut.

He grabs my face, and turns it to the left and right looking for the mark Mom has left behind.

“Bitch,” he says when he finds the welt.

“Spencer,” I say, my voice muffled with tears. “I can’t take her any more.”

He pulls me to his chest and kisses the top of my head, his lips pressing against my staples.

“Shhh, you don’t have to.”

“I do. She is my mom, and I can’t just rat her out!”

“Maybe you have to, Bailey. What will it take to make her stop? Your mom is sick, she needs help.”

“Maybe this was it, maybe she was just upset because she hasn’t been drinking lately,” I say, my voice rising and falling as I try unsuccessfully to control my sobs.

“Shhh,” Spencer soothes me. “Don’t cry, dear heart.”

“Who else is here?” I ask, hoping it is just him and Clad.

“Sarah and Clad is all. Do you want me to make them leave?”

“No, I don’t want anyone being angry with me. Just tell my Mom to get me some clothes and I will be out soon.”

“As you wish,” he says, and walks out of the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him.

I can hear Sarah guessing as to what is wrong with me, and Clad demanding to see me. Then come footsteps light as a feather, and Spencer returns with my clothes.

“Can you dress yourself?” he asks.

“I can manage,” I say.

“Clad is getting to be a real pain.”

“Tell him I will be out in a moment,” I say, and shut the door to dress.

After I have stretched out my shirt by trying to shove my cast through it, I put my jeans on and drag a comb through my hair. There is no time to brush my teeth, everyone is waiting on me.

I open the door and step out cautiously; Clad is sitting at the table staring intensely at Spencer.

“Hey guys,” I say, feeling suddenly shy.

“Thank God! What were you doing in there, getting ready for a photo shoot?” Clad says, rising, then wrapping an arm around my waist and guiding me to the table. “We bought you a cake.”

There is a white frosted cake sitting on the table, written in pink frosting it reads: Get well soon! Welcome home!

“It looks delicious,” I say, even though the very sight of it makes me feel like I have to vomit.

Angel is sitting at my heels wagging his tail, patiently waiting for some love. I bend down and scratch his head, then behind his ears, and let him lick my hand till it is wet with his warm saliva.

“Oh, you missed me, didn’t you baby?” I say as he rolls over and offers his stomach for rubbing.

“The dog gets more attention,” Clad says under his breath.

I baby-talk to Angel and let him curl up in my lap.

“We could play soccer, if you want,” Sarah says, and Spencer shoots her a look. “Or not.”

“I’m not feeling too hot Sarah, or I would. I promise to play with you sometime,” I say quickly, trying to repair her hurt feelings.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she says, looking crestfallen.

“I have to go to work now,” Mom says.

“Can I have a kiss, baby?” she asks.

I stare at Angel’s pink little tongue as it laps my hand, silently praying that I won’t have to kiss her.

She grabs my chin, gently, and kisses me anyway.

“Will one of you stay with her today? I don’t want her to be home alone, in case she gets sick, or forgets to take her medication.”

“I will!” Clad eagerly volunteers.

“Thank you-” she says, forgetting his name.

“Clad,” he says.

“Yes, Clad. Well, I’ll be going, see you kids later.”

Spencer raises his hand as if to wave goodbye, but brushes it through his hair instead.

“You guys can go now,” Clad says as soon as the door clicks shut.

“Clad!” I say.

“I’m just saying you need your rest. You can see Spencer any day.”

“Spence don’t listen to him he’s just-”

“No, no, no, that’s okay, Bailey. Lover boy wants us to leave. Sarah and I will see you tomorrow, okay?” Spencer says.

“Spence,” I say, biting my lower lip.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, angel face,” Spencer says, grabbing Sarah’s hand, exiting, leaving me alone with Clad.

“Damn, Clad. Why do you have to be so jealous?” I snap at him.

“Jealous of what? Singer Boy and his bad taste in clothes? Or maybe it’s his wonky haircut, yep that must be it.”

I squeeze Angel too hard, and he squeals.

“Enough, Clad. I don’t feel like listening to you insult the only person who was there for me when I needed him most.”

“Excuse me?
He wasn’t in the locker room
.”

“Clad, you know what I mean,” I say with narrowed eyes.