Evangeline (10 page)

Caleb was visibly upset as he ducked behind the wheel of his El Camino.

“What’s going on?” asked Susan as she slid into the front seat ahead of Angeline.

“Nothing,” grumbled Caleb, “Let’s just go.”

As he backed out of the lot, Angeline caught a brief glimpse of Billy and Brianna engaged in a heated conversation while the other cheerleaders awkwardly drifted away.  Caleb booted the gas, the rear tires spit dirt and the car roared from the lot.

Angeline stayed silent durin
g
the long drive to the Mohr’s, shoved up against the passenger’s side door and gazing out the window at shadowy fields of corn and baled hay while Susan Weaver blabbered on.  Only once did Sister bother eavesdropping-- and only because the conversation shifted to the infamous Holt Hacker.  Apparently Susan had heard disturbing rumors that the serial killer wasn’t just murdering her victims… she was castrating them as well.   

“Where’d you hear that?” Caleb wanted to know.

“Karen’s dad said so.  He, like, heard it from… umm, I forget.  But he told her the Hacker…”  Susan made a chopping motion with her hand.  “She, like, cuts off their pee pees.” 

“Pee pees?” mocked Caleb.  “What are you fuckin’ five?”

“My mom called it that,” Susan snapped indignantly.  “Why?  What do you call it?”

“Captain Winky.”

Susan smirked at him.  “You think it’s funny, but the Hacker probably lives around here.  She could be anywhere.”  Susan turned to Angeline.  “Am I right?”

Angeline shrugged.

The El Camino turned onto the Mohr’s property and parked between sections of rusted barbed wire.  A fire was burning in the outdoor pit, but only a handful of hardy souls were braving the chilling mist that ghosted in.  Everyone else had retreated into the farmhouse, which is where Caleb and Susan immediately headed, trailed by Angeline. 

The interior of the Mohr’s home, illuminated by candles and lanterns, was a dilapidated mess, carpeted in decades of dust.  The walls of the crowded great room, which is where the partiers had congregated, were pocked with holes.  The wallpaper--or what remained of it--was torn and yellowed with age.  There was no furniture to speak of, either.  Just a busted up table and a tattered couch with years of grime and dirt ground into its fabric. 

The partiers--mostly students from Willowdale High--were drinking booze, smoking weed and singing along to mainstream country tunes blasting from a CD player propped on the mantle of a fireplace that was filled with empty beer cans and shattered bottles.       

“Screw this pop country shit!” Caleb shouted above the din.  “Let’s rock this house!”

“Fuck off!” a chorus of voices retorted.

Caleb grinned as he pulled a pint bottle of tequila from a bag he’d carried in from the car.  “You like country?” he asked Angeline.  “I mean real fiddle and steel country?”

Sister shrugged.  She’d heard of country.  But, thanks to Mother, the only music in the house was
La Vie En Rose
-- which she’d endured a thousand fucking times. 

“I grew up listening to that music,” continued Caleb as he twisted the cap off the Jose Cuervo.  “That and old school rock n’ roll.  My bros played it all the time.  That’s music with attitude, you know?  It’s honest.  Not like this recycled mainstream country bubblegum bullshit.”

“Well, I like it,” Susan interjected.

“Yeah, you would Weaver.  You can have your Carrie Underwoods and your fuckin’ Taylor Swifts.  Gimme Red Dirt country any day of the week, man.”  He took a jolt of tequila and offered it to Angeline.  “Want some?”

Sister declined, so he passed the tequila along to Susan.  The girl took a sip, grimaced at the taste, then passed it right back again.  “I’ll stick with mine,” she told him, hoisting a bottle of cheap wine.

“I’m smokin’ up,” said Caleb, leaving to join a circle of friends passing a pipe on the far side of the room.  As he crossed, a stocky kid wearing a Redman Chewing Tobacco cap was leading a girl with boobs the size of small children up a rickety staircase to the second floor.  

“Trust me, you don’t want to go up there,” said Susan, reading Sister’s eyes.

“W-What’s up there?”

“Mattresses,” answered Susan, crinkling her nose.  “Can you imagine?  Gross.”  That said, she moved off to join some of her girlfriends, leaving Angeline standing all by her lonesome.  

For the next hour or so my socially retarded sister held up the walls and tried to blend in with the wallpaper.  Despite her best efforts, though, Caleb kept finding her; introducing Angeline to new friends and copious amounts of alcohol and cannabis, all of which she waved off. 

After a time she considered sneaking away, perhaps even walking home.  But it was almost a three mile hike through a cold, spitting mist to reach the farm, and ten times that distance back to the parking lot where the F-100 was parked.  My sister was stuck, once again, on an alien planet.  Her best option, it seemed, was to ride out the night and try to survive the unpleasant situation.

It was about that time that Angeline’s gaze happened to fall on the half empty bottle of Jose Cuervo sitting on the fireplace mantle.  She drifted closer, careful not to draw attention to herself, then snatched the tequila and twisted off the cap.  Sister didn’t like the idea of drinking booze, but the stuff seemed to have loosened up everyone else at the party so…

She sniffed the neck, took a cautious sip and gagged. 

But at that point, however brutal the taste, failure was not an option.  So Angeline bravely soldiered on, swallowing another sip, then another… followed by a gulp.  And each time the alcohol went down a little easier.  Soon enough a comfortable warmth was rising through her body.  

Tequila, she decided, was damn good shit. 

“Hey, Angel!”

Caleb was grinning at her from across the room. “Whatcha doin’ over there?”

Angeline returned a drunken smile.  The girl was all numb and fuzzy now.  Life was good.

“Careful with that,” said the boy.  “It’ll sneak up and bite you in the ass.” 

As he was saying this, Susan Weaver stumbled drunk into Caleb’s arms and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.  He draped an arm over the girl’s shoulder and returned an affectionate peck on her head.   

Well, friends, that didn’t sit well with my sister.  She thought the blabby bitch was muscling in on her man.  Tequila in hand, Angeline lurched their direction then paused on the fringe of the circle of friends.  As near as Sister could figure it, the conversation was about the Holt Hacker, but the kids were either too stoned or too shit-faced to stay on point. 

“Well, that’s what I heard,” Susan was slobbering at Soup.

“Woooooo… scary,” said Soup as he sparked a joint. 

Susan glared at him.  “I hope she chops
your
weenie off.”

“Good luck finding it,” laughed Caleb.

“Listen to needle dick the insect fucker,” Soup retorted.

A tall kid with a mutton chop beard and black frame glasses laughed and bumped knuckles with Soup.    

“I’m serious, okay?” Susan mumbled drunkenly. “This shit is, like, freakin’ me out.” 

“What do you care, Weaver,” said Soup.  “You’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Ha… ha,” mocked Susan as she laid her head on Caleb’s shoulder.  “It’s jus’ freakin’ me out, tha’s all.”

Caleb felt a tap on the opposite shoulder and turned to find Angeline behind him. 

“Hey, Angel.  What’s--”   

Before he could finish, Sister was stretching on her toes and lunging forward, trying to plant a sloppy kiss on his mouth.

“Whoa, wait a sec!” exclaimed Caleb, jerking his head back.   

Angeline stood there mortified, frozen awkwardly in time.  The kid with the mutton chops chuckled and a short Asian-looking girl next to him slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.  Embarrassed and ashamed, Sister bolted for the door, nearly bowling over a couple walking in as she was rushing out. 

Of course I kne
w
Angeline’s mind.  The girl fully intended to walk all the way back to the family farm, weather be damned.  And she would have to--or died trying--if Caleb hadn’t caught her on the oil road.

“Hold up,” the boy was pleading as he trotted after her.  “C’mon, Angel.  Talk to me.”

“I feel so stupid,” she sobbed drunkenly, wiping away tears.

“It’s not what you think,” he insisted, falling into step.  “It’s not.”

“I know you like Susan, Caleb.  I’m so sorry.”

“Susan’s got nothing to do with it.  You don’t understand.  Hey, wait a second.”  He grabbed Angeline by the arm, bringing her up short. 

“I couldn’t kiss you, Angel,” he said.  “Not the way you wanted.  It’s different with you.”

Angeline’s face hardened and she angrily wiped away her tears.  The boy had plucked a nerve. 

“Bbbb-because I’m different,” she said coldly, then shook off his grip and began walking again. 

“No.” said Caleb watching her go.  “Because I’m your brother.”

What the fuck?!

The news whiplashed both of us like a blindside impact, and brought Angeline up short.  It was a long moment before she turned to face the boy, still too stunned to speak. 

“I wanted to tell you before,” Caleb explained.  “I just didn’t know how.”    

“I don’t bbb-believe you.”

“It’s true,” he insisted.  “My mother got spun one night about a month ago and told me everything.  She said all my brothers had different fathers… and that mine was J.D. Gottschalk.”

“No.  That’s a lie.”

Caleb approached her slowly.  “My mom may be a tweaker.  And she may be a whore.  But she’s never been a liar.”  He stopped before her, took a deep breath and let it out again.  “Look, I can’t prove anything, and you can believe what you want, Angel.  But I know my mom.  And I know she was telling the truth.”

To me it all made sense now-- Caleb Quinn’s whole “getting to know you” shtick.  Of course, that didn’t make things any easier for my sister.  The poor girl was devastated, not knowing what to think or how to feel.  So, rather than deal with those clashing emotions, she fled them, turning on heel and walking, once more, toward Hainesville.

“Where you going?” Caleb called after her. 

“Home,” she said without turning.

“Angel, you can’t walk home.  Let me drive you.”

“Please,” Sister begged as she turned and backpedaled.  “Please, just leave mmm-me alone.”

She left Caleb behind and continued trudging along the roadside, drunk and miserable, her coat pulled tight to her neck.  It would be a long hike through a frigid night to reach the farm, but Sister didn’t care.  She had tequila in her veins to keep warm and, if that failed, so what?  She’d just curl up by the roadside and freeze to death… a merciful end to a merciless night.

Guess I should have felt bad for the girl.  Faster than a cat can lick its ass, she’d gained a brother but lost her Prince Charming.  All those fairy tale dreams had been dashed.  There would be no happily-ever-after, no marrying the prince, no raising a houseful of brats.  The Disney movie was a bust.  Stick a fork in it, because the only love that boy ever had in his heart for my sister was the brotherly kind. 

Which was just fine with yours truly. 

Callous as this might sound, I was glad the charade was over.  However far-fetched it may have been, a serious relationship between those two would have totally screwed with my plans.   Personally I had no use for the “L” word.  Sure love can hurt, but it can’t kill.  Not unless you’re packing a Smith & Wesson.

Angeline had walked th
e
County Oil Road for maybe a quarter of a mile when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching from behind.  When it slowed to keep pace, she assumed it was Caleb in his El Camino.  But it wasn’t the Quinn she expected.  An all-to-familiar voice called out, and Sister’s blood instantly ran cold. 

“Where you goin’?” said The Asshole. 

Out the corner of her eye she could see him leaning from the window of his cargo van.  Angeline kept eyes forward and continued walking, hoping he’d go away. 

“Hey, c’mon, don’t be like that,” said Billy, feigning insult.  “I’m just trying to be friendly.” 

He pulled ahead then veered hard left to cut her off.  Angeline froze dead in her tracks, then watched, paralyzed, as Billy stepped out of the van in front of her wearing that unnerving smile.

“You’re buddies with my little bro, right?” he said, crouching low to look her in the eyes.  “So why can’t we be friends, too?”

She kept her eyes down and said nothing, her heart jumping in her chest.  “C’mon, girl.  Let me give you a lift,” said Billy, and he placed a firm hand on Angeline’s shoulder that made her knees go weak.  “C’mon now.  Get in the van.”

Angeline felt herself being herded and dug her heels in. 

“I don’t wah-wah-want to.”

“Sure you do,” the boy insisted, pushing harder and leading her away.