Wanted (14 page)

Of course. I ain't stupid.

A brick lands in the floor of my belly. I just referred to myself as “us.”

“Alrighty then.” Dr. Hanson sits in the straight back chair next to the couch and crosses his legs. “I'm going to put you in a very relaxed state and then I'll ask you some questions. After about ten minutes, I'll wake you up, and we'll go from there. Okay so far?”

“Yes, sir. Everything's dandy,” Bonnie chirps.

“I'm going to ask you to tense and then relax each muscle group from your feet all the way to your shoulders. Let's start with your toes.”

I wiggle my toes, then ankles, then knees, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“No, not like that,” Dr. Hanson corrects. “You have to clench the muscle, hold for five seconds, and then relax it before moving on to the next one. Let's try this again.”

With an impatient sigh, I clench and hold as he asks, before moving on to do the same with my calves, my knees, and on up, all the way to my shoulders. His voice softens. “That's it. Now concentrate on your inhalations and exhalations as you let go of all conscious thought.”

Behind my eyelids there's an ocean of blackness with two white squares superimposed in the center—which I figure must be the negative images of the sun coming in through Dr. Hanson's office windows. Despite all the relaxation exercises, my breath booms loudly in my ears—in, out, in, out. I can't wait for this to start so it can be over.

“Are you fully relaxed and ready to begin?” he asks.

Bonnie replies with a guttural, “Uh-huh.” Trancelike, but still alert.

Not me, I think. I'm so hyped up, it's like I drank a swimming pool's worth of iced coffee.

Dr. Hanson begins then, speaking quietly. “Let your mind wander. Think about the first time you got in trouble with the law. Let the images rush in and don't edit what you're seeing or feeling. Just give me a running commentary of everything you see and hear.”

Images of places I've never been flood into my mind—barns, silos, prairie grasslands with a few skinny cows grazing off in the distance. I'm in some sort of antique car with a ton of headroom above me. An emblem with the words
Ford Motor Company—1927
is mounted on the glove compartment. I'm waving a white handkerchief in front of my face, as if to cool down. I look to the driver's seat and see Clyde there, with his greased-back haircut and ears that stick out, younger now than he was in the autopsy. He smiles at me.
“Hey beautiful. You all set to lose your virginity?”
He laughs, elbowing me.
“Your virginal criminal record, that is.”

My hand slides down Clyde's slim arm. “I'm in Tellico, Texas,” I tell Dr. Hanson, “sitting in a car with the love of my life. Lord, he looks good!”

Keep things vague, Bonnie. Don't mention any names.

The scene in my brain pans to my left, and then zooms in for a close-up, getting an interior shot of the car. There are unfamiliar foot pedals, a gearshift knob on the end of a long skinny bar, and an outdated dashboard with big dials.
“Ready to go, doll?”
Clyde squeezes my knee, smiling. I look over at the small white building with wooden siding, complete with peeling paint and raggedy, faded blue awnings. I can make out the words
Colleyville Drugs
in white paint across the picture window.

“It's the day of the first job we pulled together,” I say, my voice all twangy and breathless. “After I helped him break out of prison, that is. That's a whole other story, though.”

I hear Dr. Hanson's pencil furiously scribbling notes.

Prison! I screech. Are you crazy? Take that back now! Say “just kidding, Doctor!”

Bonnie doesn't respond. I need to end this session now before Bonnie says any more incriminating details about her life. I'll tell Dr. Hanson that hypnosis is not working for me and that I feel uncomfortable. But when I attempt to slide my legs to the side so I can sit up, I can't. They have become two beached whales that have melded with the couch.

My ears ring with panic. Could her side of the brain be so entranced that she's under hypnosis even though I'm not? Temporarily down for the count? Inaccessible? If she is, I guess that means I am, too. I quickly rattle off a prayer to my mom, to God, to anyone who will listen:
Please don't let Bonnie say anything that will make Dr. Hanson decide to commit me for residential treatment. Please, please, please!

“We're sitting in the car, talking about our plan and Chestnut—that's his real middle name, you know, not Champion like he tole everyone—looks so handsome and sweet, it's breaking my heart.”

“What happens next?” Dr. Hanson says, sounding intrigued.

I watch through Bonnie's eyes as Clyde reaches under his seat and hands me a gun. I twist the two knobs on the black purse on my lap and toss the pistol inside.
“You're gonna do swell, doll. I just know it,”
he tells me.
“You were born to this life, same as me.”

“I can't wait to show Clyde I can pull this job off,” Bonnie tells Dr. Hanson, “but I'm a tad scared about using a gun. I shot plenty of cans out behind Turtle Creek, but that's not the same as shooting a live person. Made me feel kinda sick in my belly, you know?” She—or maybe it's me since I don't know at this point—sighs loudly. “Clyde said it made no matter because I shouldn't fire at anyone unless they's aiming a gun at me first. Made that very clear. He ain't no monster like everyone thinks. Only shot people when he had no choice.”

“Tell me about the job you pulled,” Dr. Hanson directs.

“Clyde decided Colleyville Drugs would be an easy target because the owner was older than God himself. I told Clyde it was blasphemy to say that and he told me that I'd see for myself that he wasn't lying. That was Clyde for you, always kidding around.” I giggle and snort loudly, unable to stop myself. My heart rate increases with her every word. I need to stop her.

Wake up, Bonnie! I beg. Open your eyes. Session's over.

Dr. Hanson clears his throat. “Uh-huh. Keep going.”

I try again, this time louder, more urgent. The cops are here! Raid! Run for your life!

“Sure,” Bonnie says, deaf to my pleas. “So then Clyde told me that my job was to go in and distract Mr. Rogers by bringing him to the back of the store, while he robbed the register up front. Clyde said the man behind the counter was one lucky bastard because he got to see my great gams.” When I giggle-snort again, a bit of drool runs out the side of my mouth. I go to wipe it when I realize Bonnie's hypnotic trance prevents me from moving.

My dream self daintily dabs the sweat off my forehead with a handkerchief before taking a deep breath and exiting the car. After smoothing my dress, I stroll over and pull open the squeaky screen door of the drugstore, hearing it thump as it swings shut behind me. I'm in an old-fashioned country store with built-in shelves all the way to the ceiling. An old man in a butcher's apron stands on a tall sliding ladder, like the kind you see in ancient college libraries. He sets a box on a shelf.
“Howdy, ma'am! Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank ya kindly,”
Bonnie replies.

“So I go in and walk around,” Bonnie tells Dr. Hanson, “and pretend I'm looking for something. I'm real nervous, this being my first job and all, but I know Chestnut's counting on me to do it right.” With my eyes still closed, I can feel Bonnie smiling.

“Uh-huh. Then what?” Dr. Hanson presses.

“Then I pick up a few boxes and put them back down, like I can't find what I want. Mama always says I should've gone into acting because I'm so good at it. Anyhow, I saunter up to the old man at the counter and make my voice sound sweet, smilin' just the way men like. Then I ask him if he can help me find rose water, because that's what Clyde told me to ask for. Said they kept it way back in the far corner of the store when he came here to case the joint.”

I try to yawn, bite my tongue—anything to regain control of my mouth, but it's no use. Bonnie keeps on blathering away—telling Dr. Hanson every last freaking detail of her first robbery. And it sounds like she's enjoying herself. Bragging about it even. “Of course, the old guy is pleased as punch to help me. Tells me to follow him. As I do, I make my heels clunk loudly on the wooden floor. That was my own idea, the clunking. I figured the noise was good cover for Clyde.”

“What did you and Clyde do next?” he asks, making me wonder when he's going to do his part with the alternative suggestions so Bonnie will shut the hell up.

“I touch the geezer's arm so he thinks I'm flirting with him. When I hear a
toot-toot
out front a minute later, I tell the old man I can't make up my mind and need to come back later. Turned out to be the easiest job we ever pulled. Got away with fifty-two dollars and Clyde didn't even have to shoot no one. Funniest thing was, he came out smelling handsome too. He had dabbed some fancy cologne on at the register, right after he swiped the cash. Ain't he a hoot?”

I can hear Dr. Hanson scribbling like mad. “Yes, I see. Very good.” He clears his throat. “I think that's enough for now. On the count of three, I want you to start waking up slowly, coming back to being in my office. 1… 2… 3. When you're ready, open your eyes.”

The light in my eyes flickers and my head feels lighter, as if I'm coming to the surface from being underwater. I bolt to a sitting position, hoping to catch Bonnie off-guard. I'm rewarded for my efforts by being able to whip the poem into my open purse. I take a deep breath, ready to tell Dr. Hanson that the things I spoke about weren't from my memories, but from Bonnie Parker's. That I never robbed a drug store at gunpoint in my life and that this is all a huge mistake. My heart races, as I sputter, “Oh my God, that was not me talking just then, Dr. Hanson. I know this sounds crazy, but last night, I think I might have awakened the spirit of—”

You say my name and we both end up in the sanitarium. Ain't that what you said?

A mental sledgehammer pounds my skull. I clear my throat. “Never mind.”

Dr. Hanson narrows his eyes. “Awakened the spirit of who? It's all right. You can tell me.” Judging by the slick line of sweat on his forehead, he's on high alert for a juicy revelation.

I'm plagued with indecision. Let Dr. Hanson think I have schizophrenia or say I've been inhabited by Bonnie Fucking Parker. I realize it probably doesn't matter what I say.

Either way, I can kiss my future goodbye.

After deciding to drive to Texas to find Methvin's kin, I realize I ain't got me no map. When Bonnie was around, I didn't have to worry. That girl was an expert at stealing maps whenever we stopped to fuel up.
Lookie what I got here
, she'd say, teasing me as she waved it in my face. I swear that gal had flypaper for fingers. Swift and sure, never getting caught.

White light flickers for a second. Is Jack about to take me over? Shiest! I concentrate on staying put when I realize it musta been the sun shining off a car window as it drove past the house. I get up and look in the mirror. “Ha! You ain't getting back that easy.” I plug my fingers into my ears and waggle my tongue, like I used to do to my brother Buck when we was kids.

The door slams somewhere nearby and a man yells, “Jack? Sean? Pizza's here!”

I rub my belly. Sure would be good to eat. I smell garlic, cheese, and tomato sauce, which make my stomach growl loudly. I laugh, remembering the time Bonnie bamboozled a slice from a pizza man in Chicago by giving him a kiss.

Before I knew what hit me, thunderous bolts of lightning flash through my head and I'm plunged into darkness. I'm so angry at myself for letting my guard down that I wish I could beat the daylights out of Jack Daniel. Take him outside and cuff him again and again until blood was squirtin' out his nose like a faucet.

I look out through Jack's eyes and see him pick up a pen and paper off his desk. He writes, “FUCK YOU, CLYDE! LEAVE ME ALONE!” in giant letters. Is that all he's got—a few curse words? Looking at his pretty boy face and straight nose, I'd bet Jack never got a licking in his life. Defending yourself is something all men should know how to do. Ranks right up there with another event all men should know about, something I doubt Jack knows anything about either. My first time was with Sweet Norma Rae. She was worth all two dollars my daddy paid for her as my sixteenth birthday gift.

After wetting his hair and messing up all the stylin' I done for him, Jackrabbit runs out of his room and heads to the kitchen. He grabs a plate and sticks four wedges of that mouthwatering pizza pie onto it. Them wops know what they're doing. The white cheese is all melted and gooey, and little pepperonis sit on top just begging to be eaten. But eating four whole slices on his own? My God, they don't got a care in the world about food these days. I seen men fighting over a rich family's table scraps, just hoping to have enough to survive.

Jack stuffs it into his mouth, chewin' and swallowin' again and again, but I can't taste a thing. For the second time since I been sharing Jack Daniel's body, I'm green with envy. First time was watching him make a turrible attempt at wooing Twinkle, knowing I coulda sweet-talked her into giving me a kiss, and now this. He don't deserve none of it the way he lays around all day like one of those poor army fellers who ain't got no legs.

He sits at the table, jawing with Curly and his daddy. I try to read their lips to learn something. They keep looking at a square box on the counter with moving pictures on it. But this one don't look like the one at the gas station. They's watching a baseball game, but we ain't even at a ball park. This new world is strange all right, but with all the dough they have, I could get used to it right quick.