The Devil's Wire (9 page)

19

The day has been a long one. Jennifer sits in the lounge, as she has these past six nights, listening to the click of the portable heater switch on and off as if it can't make up its goddamn mind. Her woolen jersey is buttoned all the way to the top and she's yanked up the thermostat as far as it will go, but there's still a chill she can't shake. It never seems to leave. But it's too early in the season for a fire. Besides, that would mean going to the shed to gather wood and she does not want to be outside alone at night.

Security is her principal concern right now and she's developed a routine of sorts that at least allows her to get some rest each night. First, she checks the windows and locks twice. She's meticulous, making sure the window latches are down as far as they will go and fixed into place, putting the key into each and every lock, opening and closing them, inspecting the mechanism to be certain it's functioning properly. Second, she waits until McKenzie is in bed then inspects all possible entrances, including the front and back door, the ranch sliders, and the garage entrance. Third, she makes sure her cell is fully charged and in her pocket and that the landline is working. Fourth, she repeats steps one through three until she is satisfied that she's left no stone unturned.

Yesterday McKenzie caught her in the act.

"I'm being over-cautious, I know," Jennifer had said.

"You always think the worst."

And Jennifer had to look away then, because written all over her daughter's face was the clear indication that McKenzie thought this entire mess was somehow all her fault.

Maybe they should just leave. Start over somewhere new, back in Chicago. But the thought doesn't bring Jennifer much solace. Sell her practice? Leave everything she had worked so hard for? Disrupt McKenzie's life even more? And why should they be the ones to go when Hank was the one to blame?

She stares at the cup of coffee long gone cold and thinks about slipping out to buy a pack of cigarettes now that she's had a taste. But she doesn't of course. She can't leave McKenzie alone in case he comes back. Instead she scratches at the loose thread on the sofa arm and looks at the dish towel, the quaintness of the green apple print strangely perverse given the cargo hiding beneath it. She thinks about how the gun feels in her hand, rigid and heavy, like a car part, and the bullets, cool and smooth, clinking like leaden marbles in the hollow of her palm. Pushing those tiny missiles into the chamber had left a smear of grease on her fingertip and she can smell it now, the smoky sap-like odor, and feels oddly comforted.

She grows sleepy and spreads out on the couch, pushing the damask cushion behind her head. God she's so tired. She shuts her eyes and tells herself to relax. Everything is secure. Everything locked tight. No-one can get in. She repeats this until her breath grows low and heavy and she fades into a dreamless sleep.

*

She wakes up with his hand over her mouth. He is behind her. She knows the sound of his breath.

"I just want to talk," he says.

Startled, she yells out against his palm.

"Quiet," he warns.

She obeys and he lowers his hand and circles to face her. He looks lucid and together – freshly showered, cleanly shaven, hair neatly brushed, like he is going on a job interview or a date. She can even smell the Ultra Tide on his clothes.

"I had to do this. I knew you wouldn't let me in otherwise."

"You need to leave," she says.

He nods but sits down beside her.

"Let me make it right, Jen. I know I've got work to do, but with time we can be a family again."

He places his hand on hers but she throws it off and gets to her feet.

"I said get out!"

She makes a dash for her phone, fully expecting him to stop her, but instead he says –

"Go on. Call them."

She hesitates as if it's some sort of trick.

"There's a reason you can't, Jen. In your heart you know we can work through this."

"Work through this? Are you completely dumb? You've been abusing our daughter for God knows how long then sleeping next to me like all is good in this world. Don't you know how sick that is?"

"No one feels worse about this than me."

She shakes her head, incredulous.

"You don't have any idea what you've done, do you?"

He reaches to touch her. "Jen."

"Get your hands off me!"

His touch turns vice-like and his face hardens.

"Give me a chance, Jen."

She tries to twist away, but he squeezes tighter, mashing muscle against bone.

"Let go!"

Sweat breaks out on his upper lip. "You're not going to ruin our family, everything we've worked so hard for."

She struggles against him. He grips harder.

"Stop it!" she cries.

He slams her onto the couch. Oh God, the gun, she needs the gun. She tries to pivot for it but he pins her down with his right knee and the green apples remain hopelessly out of reach.

"Hank!"

He puts his hand across her mouth and she screams. But the sound goes no further and all she can think of is the gun, centimeters from her head, the gun that would stop him in his tracks. He pushes up her skirt and tugs at her underwear and Jennifer tries to bite but can't get traction. He unzips his pants and loosens his grip and Jennifer takes her chance and powers her knee into his groin, throwing him off. She grabs the gun and points.

"Get out."

Her hands are trembling.

"Really, Jen. A gun?" he says.

He lifts his chin and touches the space between his eyes. The gun rattles in her hand.

"You can't do it, can you?" he says.

She straightens her arms and cocks the trigger.

"I said get out."

Then he smiles and reaches over and takes the gun. She can't believe it. It's as if he's removing a dangerous object from the hands of a child.

"What's going on?" calls McKenzie from the top of the stairs.

"Hon, stay there," says Jennifer.

McKenzie's jaw drops. "Freaking hell, is that a gun?"

"Come down for a minute, Mac," he says.

"Don't listen to him," implores Jennifer. "Go to my bedroom and call the police."

But McKenzie runs down and turns to Hank.

"Dad what are you doing?"

"I want you know I'm sorry Mac," he says, "for all of it."

McKenzie's face softens. "I know."

"It's too early for forgiveness but I hope one day you can."

McKenzie doesn't answer.

"Mac?" he whispers.

"You hurt me."

He begins to cry. "Oh God, Mac. I know."

He looks at the ceiling and chokes back sobs and starts thumbing the safety catch – on/off/on/off. Jennifer feels weightless. Every little thing, every sound, movement, smell, seems magnified.

"Dad?"

But he isn't listening and Jennifer's ears begin to ring – a high pitch flat line like a TV warming up.

"Hank, please," says Jennifer.

Her throat closes in on itself. They were going to be a page three newspaper story. Their bodies would lie here undiscovered for days.

"Give me the gun," she says.

He shakes his head.

"No."

He presses the barrel flush against his temple.

"Daddy!"

His eyes flip open and he turns the gun on McKenzie then on Jennifer.

"We go together," he says.

He reaches for McKenzie. "She goes first, so she doesn't have to see you die."

Then everything's a blur. Jennifer is running for him, knocking him to the ground, the gun skittering across the floor. He grunts and tries to throw her off.

"Run!" she yells.

"I don't want to leave you," cries McKenzie.

"Go!"

Then, mercifully, Jennifer hears the click of the front door and McKenzie is out. Hank reaches for the gun and Jennifer gets up and slams her foot down on the back of his neck. She makes a break for it, bracing herself for the shot but there's none. Outside McKenzie is nowhere to be seen. Then, across the road, two shadows. Lenise calls out, McKenzie by her side.

"Hurry!"

Jennifer looks over her shoulder. Hank is on his feet.

"
Quickly
," hisses Lenise.

Jennifer runs across the road and they hurry inside and lock the door.

"Is he coming?" says McKenzie.

They stand in the dark, back from the window.

"He's looking over here," says Lenise.

"Have you called the police?" says Jennifer.

Lenise doesn't answer and keeps watch. "I told you this would happen, didn't I? Men are loose cannons when crossed."

"Lenise, have you called 911?"

"No."

"Why not!"

Jennifer reaches for the phone.

"Wait. He's leaving," says Lenise.

They watch as he gets into his car and drives away.

"What if he comes back?" says McKenzie.

"He won't."

"How can you be so sure?" says Jennifer.

"You surprised him. He didn't expect you to fight so hard. He needs time to think about his next move."

She takes the phone from Jennifer's hand.

"What are you doing? We need to call the police."

Lenise places the phone back on the cradle.

"I've got a better idea."

20

Lenise shows them to the spare room upstairs.

"You can stay here tonight."

She disappears briefly and returns with pillows and blankets, then disappears again and comes back with a glass of milk for McKenzie.

"To help you sleep."

Lenise turns to Jennifer.

"And when you're done here, I've got something stronger downstairs."

Lenise leaves them and they stare at the empty doorway, standing there like two stunned wretches forced to flee a fire in the night.

"Drink your milk," says Jennifer.

McKenzie nods numbly and drinks while Jennifer organizes the blankets and pillows. When she's done, McKenzie gets into bed and Jennifer tucks her in tight.

"He was going to kill us," whispers McKenzie.

Jennifer doesn't know what to say. She can't say it's all over now and everything's going to be A-okay. She can't say he didn't mean it and isn't a nutcase and wouldn't have really hurt us. She can't say one day we'll look back on this and laugh.

Suddenly McKenzie grabs her and holds on tight. Jennifer can't remember the last time they had hugged and it feels good.

"I was so sacred, Mom."

"He's gone. We're safe now."

"I thought you were so brave."

"You're the brave one," says Jennifer, kissing the top of McKenzie's head. "Get some sleep."

Jennifer leaves McKenzie and finds Lenise sitting in the half-light sipping amber liquid from a tumbler.

Lenise signals with her chin to a bottle of liquor and full glass on the coffee table. "That's for you."

Jennifer drops into the armchair and takes a pull. Bourbon. Spicy and numbing. She touches the ache on her face. Bruises. Swelling. She can't cry. But a second later she is, uncontrollably and noiselessly, tears splashing into the bourbon, stinging the cut on her lip. Then she remembers she isn't alone and looks up to see Lenise staring at her.

"Don't waste your tears on him." In the glow of the light, Lenise's face is softer than usual, although her coarse hair is sticking out all over the place. "He's an asshole of the highest order."

"Yes," says Jennifer. "Yes, he is."

Jennifer drains her glass and Lenise pours her another.

"In South Africa we have street justice."

"You mean lawlessness."

"No, you're quite wrong. There is law there, just a different type."

"If you say so."

Lenise leans in to make her point. "Don't be one of those cases were the cops arrive two minutes too late. What I'm talking about Jennifer is
effectiveness
."

Jennifer stares into her glass. "I'm not sure I like what you're getting at."

"You can't leave this situation in the hands of other people who don't have a true interest in your wellbeing, who see you as just another name on a complaint sheet, another task of a hundred more they have piling up in their in-trays." Lenise pauses. "I'm talking about dealing with this once and for all."

"I'm not a killer."

Lenise waves a hand. "No, no. Not that far. He needs a scare. He needs to know you will no longer tolerate him."

"Why would he take any notice of what I do?"

"Because he wants control of the situation. You have to make him think he's still in charge."

All of a sudden, it's too much, and the tears are back, more fiercely than before.

"Oh God, why is this happening?"

"Cut it out," snaps Lenise. "You can't be afraid. That's his weapon. He's just like any other terrorist. We have to beat him at his own game. Now I'm not going to lie to you, this is going to be dangerous. You need to be strong for yourself and that girl in there. But above all else, Jenny, from now on, you show no weakness."

*

Jennifer wakes on the couch beneath a multi-colored afghan. She blinks heavily. The glass tumblers and bottle of bourbon sit empty on the coffee table. Her tongue is sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. She sits up, bracing herself for the rush of blood to the head, and when it comes she's still not ready for it, the pressure forcing itself mercilessly against her skull like its own unique weather system.

She unfurls her limbs from the tangled blankets and goes into the kitchen where Lenise is making tea.

Lenise looks up. "Your face."

Jennifer touches her aching cheekbone.

"Bad?"

"It'll heal."

"Where's McKenzie?"

Lenise lifts her eyes to the ceiling. There's the hiss of water through pipes.

"Oh God, again?" says Jennifer. "Her skin is beginning to crack."

"It's how she copes," Lenise pours Jennifer some tea. "There's no sign of him. I checked."

"Good," Jennifer gulps down a mouthful. "I've been thinking. I'm going to shut the business for a week, get my head together."

Lenise puts down her cup.

"Carry on as normal. He has to believe you're not frightened."

"But what if he tries something while I'm there?"

"He won't. There's too many people around and when it comes down to it, he's a coward. Just make sure you stick to public places and don't go walking down any dark alleys."

"What about McKenzie – I can't send her to school."

Lenise nods."I think you're right. He could snatch her. She can stay here with me."

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't," Lenise points to the clock. "You're going to be late. You should go. We'll talk tonight."

Jennifer says goodbye to McKenzie and returns to the house for clean clothes. At the front door, she hesitates, struck with the fear he was still here, lurking somewhere behind a curtain or in an upstairs wardrobe. She shakes it off and goes inside but wishes she hadn't because the house doesn't feel like home anymore. There was a hollowness to it now, like the place had been abandoned after some cataclysmic event.

She's expecting to see chaos, but nothing is out of order, even the chintz cushion is resting on the sofa arm exactly where she'd left it. And there on the side table, next to the cold cup of coffee and reading lamp, is the neatly folded apple print dish towel and the gun placed on top.

Jennifer wraps the gun and hides it in the hot water cupboard beneath a stack of double sheets then goes upstairs to change her clothes, forgoing a shower to get out of the house more quickly. But when she looks in the mirror, she knows she's got a problem. The bone under her eye is a deep, curdled black, her left cheek livid and swollen. She pulls out the tube of concealer from her makeup bag and does her best.

When she gets to work, Rosemary says –

"Oh my Gosh, Jen, what happened to your face?"

Jennifer decides to keep as close to the truth as possible.

"I had a fight with Hank."

"Hank did this to you?"

"I don't want to talk about. I'm okay now."

"But Jen, he hit you?" she says. "I just can't believe it."

"How's it looking for today? Are we busy?"

"Has this sort of thing happened before?"

Jennifer falters. "Rosie, please, just leave it."

She flees into her office and tries to calm down and nearly gets there until Rosemary buzzes. The first client of the day has arrived.

*

Jennifer feels the clients survey the damaged terrain, as if she's the one under examination not them, and before they can ask what happened, she tells them it was a car accident, but when she offers her explanation she can feel the doubt, from the women mostly, who nod silently, but with sympathetic and skeptical faces. None of the men ask, but Jennifer doesn't care what they think, she's just relieved to get through the day.

She finishes just after five and heads for the grocery store, leaving a concerned-looking Rosemary to lock up. The store is busy and she encounters more stares and wishes she'd had the foresight to wear sunglasses. She can't believe she's doing something as mundane as shopping for groceries in the middle of all of this, but she can't expect Lenise to feed them. She'd done enough already. Jennifer does a quick circuit and gets what she needs and hands her bank card to the clerk and he zaps it through the machine.

"Declined," he says.

"What?"

"The card declined."

"But there should be enough money."

Hank had done this, she was sure of it, and Jennifer knew when she checked their online accounts, he would have drained them too. She fights back anger, digs around in her purse and hands over another card.

"Try this."

The guy puts it through the machine.

"Invalid."

The queue grows behind her. People crane to take a look at the beat-up woman with the bad credit.

"You got cash?" says the checkout guy.

She looks in her purse. Two twenties. Not enough. She grabs the milk, cereal, eggs and bread.

"Here."

She pays the money and wheels the cart to the side. The tub of frozen yoghurt drips onto the linoleum floor.

"Sorry," she says uselessly.

Jennifer hurries to the exit. Over the loud speaker Sophia is called to put the groceries away.