Living Dead Girl (10 page)

I think he will want to go home and dream but he is not a once upon a time little girl, he knows what I can do, what I am, and wants it, wants it.

"Can you--come to the car, okay? Tonight, I'll protect you, I swear."

Lie. I see his boy eyes, and saving me is nothing to him. Glory for himself, maybe making it so his sister can never play here again. Look at what almost happened to you. Look at what the world can do. That's what he'll say to her.

In the end, he will leave me to Ray, to his anger, but he does not understand that Ray knows about him. Needs him.

"I'll protect you," he says again in the car, and I see him wondering what it's like. What I do with Ray. What he does with me. "How'd you hook up with the old guy, anyway? You don't think you love him or some shit like that, do you? But me, maybe you could. Right?"

"Yes," I say, and try not to think of Ray and how furious he is, how furious he will be, how he will be waiting, waiting.

"Yes, me?" he asks, swallowing down another two pills as he fumbles with my clothes, with his, with a condom.

"You," I say, just a word, just a nothing, like this, like him.

You, Ray. You, Jake. You You You. Alice/I will always pick you.

Alice/I will always be whatever you want. It's what she/I was made for.

It's all I know how to do.

LEAVE JAKE DAISY-EYED, DARK PART OF HIS eyes huge like flowers that grow on the side of the road, little yellowing always dying petals with huge black centers.

Ray is waiting over to the side, walks away when I head toward him but manages to be my shadow to the bus stop, shadow so big shadow, mouth grim. Watches when I get on the bus.

Wait for everyone to get on, wait for the transfer bus to arrive, for everyone that wants to get on to do so, struggling with bags and flesh and exact change only.

See Ray's truck behind us when we pull onto the road.

On the bus I sit numb, one stop two stop three stop four, people getting on and off. Some with bags, groceries, work, huge purses that hold tiny phones. Two girls, giggling with pink glossy mouths, get on and sit in front of me.

Shit He Totally Likes You

You Think?

Yes WhatWillYouDo?

Don't Know? Call Him? DoICallHim?

YeahDoItNow OhMyGodCan'tWaitTillNextWeekWhenIGetMY CAR

I wish I had a car

CallHim!

Someone coughs; the bus way to say shut up, and they SIGH, turn to each other and whisper.

Don't see Ray's truck anymore but I know it's there. The girls are babies, little girls like the once upon a time one used to be, but they are wiser too. The world did not, will not, eat them whole. They talk all the way to their stop, Call Him, Okay But What Do I Say, Just Call Him. No coughing can stop them.

Everyone breathes happy when they get off. I watch them walking away, strange beautiful girls. No wonder Jake wants my skin. Girls like them would look right through him.

My stop. Stand up, walk. Through the windows, large plastic pieces, smeared, I see nothing but Ray, standing by where I will touch the ground.

Waiting.

THIS IS MY FAVORITE STORY. I USED to tell it all the time, whisper it in my brain over everything. Ray always shoved through it though, hot hands pushing me, pulling me, stretching me out. He never heard my story but he taught me it wasn't true. It was just pretend but pretending is hard.

Easy was turning on the TV and watching its endless stories. Letting it tell me tales that ended with songs for toilet cleaners or cars. Watching Ray's face until everything was a blur, past fearangerhate into nothingness.

This is the story:

Once upon a time, there was a girl. She lived at 623 Daisy Lane. Her parents were named Helen and Glenn
and she had a room with blue walls. She had a computer and a desk and nail polish that she could wear to school.

She would put on eye shadow in the school bathroom with her friends. Blue to match her eyes.

She was almost ten, and right before her birthday she got sick and had to stay home and missed the big trip to see the aquarium but her friends said it sucked and there weren't any dolphins and her parents said she never ever had to go there.

She had her party and ate cake and ice cream and then-—

And then-—

And then that's where the story ended. Even then, in the beginning, when I tried to pretend, I couldn't. Nothing waited for that girl after she missed her trip. Nothing I could see past her room and her parents and they didn't fade, never faded, but froze, never moving. What had been became what was and a story only works when you know the ending.

When the people in it don't seem like pretend. When you can think about that girl and how she was once upon a time, and see her.

When you don't already know the story is a lie.

RAY TAKES MY ARM AS I STEP OFF THE bus, hand around the upper part of it, smiling at the other person getting off, tired-looking woman with straining plastic shopping bag, can poking through a ripped corner. Green label. Vegetable.

Vegetables always have green labels. In the supermarket I stare at all the food, peanut butter goes with jelly, bread is with the coffee, vegetables across from pasta in its red or white boxes.

"Let's get you home," Ray says. "I've been worried about you, wondering where you were. You should have told me you were going out. Here, take my hand. You look tired."

No one is listening, bus gone, chemical burning smell of it drifting over us, woman clutching her bag and heading down the sidewalk.

To the apartment, Ray's hand clamped claw over mine. Four small separate buildings, sixteen units in each one. Once I spent part of the morning figuring how many there were, remembering school and how I hated to sit in my seat and do my work and do my homework, learn, learn, learn.

I remember so little. Stripped down to bare flesh breathing to stay alive. Say I love you. Say I want to be with you. Say thank you for taking care of me.

Be good and everyone at 623 Daisy Lane will be safe.

We live in complex two, over to the right, down into the parking lot, dip that collects water when it rains, then up past the ground down grass where girls sometimes stand talking to boys, Ray catching glimpses of them out the window and shaking his head. That's what women do. How it all starts. Scratching his back through his T-shirt like the scars there still burn.

He talks all the way there, so worried about where you were, so worried about how tired you look, what about your schoolwork, hope you did it, don't want you falling behind, you have to learn things.

You hear that? You have to learn.

Ray's voice is so steady my skin starts to shrivel. Ray has to work on talking like this not LIKE THIS because
he gets upset easily the world is not a good place it's full of bad things and people and it bothers him but he works on it, works on it. At work he says people call him Silent Ray because he's so quiet and he likes that it's better than Fat J or Pepperoni D or Assy the Clown, which is what everyone but Ray calls Harold, their boss. Ray says names are important. You don't give them away.

Inside he pushes me away like my skin hurts him and I spin across the carpet, caught before I can fall because his fist catches me, slams into my chest. Into the bruise that hasn't healed, right by where the knot that is my heart beats.

I gasp, pain so familiar. Welcome, come in. It will be okay. Ray angry like this is familiar. I drop to my knees and wait for the hands in my hair. Yank me forward or push me back. I will say what you want me to.

Ray does not touch me. Circles around me, frowning, then walks into the kitchen.

What to do? What do I do?

Follow, crawling, pain in my chest, red hot breath burns.

On the kitchen table Ray is opening a box, taking things out: Knife. Matches. Rope. Map. Paper with 623 written on it and boxes for all the rooms. Labeled. Kitchen. Dining Room. Living Room. Study. Helen and Glenn's room. Baby's room.

ALICE's room with a big X through it.

"I'd gotten everything packed," Ray says. "We were supposed to be on the road by now. Going to the desert. But you--" He shakes his head. "You. Look what you made me go and get."

Won't even look at me. Just touches the paper, 623 Daisy Lane, tracing over the rooms. The names.

"Sorry," he says to it, to them. "I tried, but Alice wasn't good at all. She'll tell you she was when you see her but you'll know she's a liar."

He picks up the knife and I am pinned in place, watch as he turns it over and over, then hits the air with it. Push, push, push.

"I thought about this," he says. "I thought about it a lot, while I waited, but you would just make the knife dirty and it's a good knife and I want it to stay clean. And you did promise that you'd be good for me. For them. For all of us. Didn't you?"

I nod because I did, I promised in blood and tears and words and curled up and down and around in all the ways he liked. I nod because he has the map and he can't use it, he can't go there, they don't deserve this. Don't deserve him.

"But," he says, still talking, still not looking at me, still slashing the air so hard sweat blooms on his forehead, his eyes going like Jake's, all daisy-eyed and far away. "I'll bring it anyway. Best to be prepared."

Grins at me then, looking at me now, and I think of how they found first Alice, dead in the river.

Her parents died after her funeral, robbery gone bad, nothing taken but they were both stabbed over and over before the house was burned down. Burglar got away with nothing but the article he made me read said
TRAGIC END TO SAD STORY
.

Burglar never got caught.

For five years I have been good so they can live, for five years I have worked so hard to keep him from driving to 623 Daisy Lane and going inside.

Take me home, please, I once said to him, and he said, You don't want me to do that.

You don't ever want me to do that.

"RAY," I SAY, "RAY," AND I SAY: Ray please don't I swear I thought she'd be there I didn't lie about her being there Jake said she would be and he just forgot I wouldn't lie to you I wouldn't do that I was there too why would I be there if I lied I should have told you about the cop but I didn't want you to worry-—

Hand in my hair then knife at my throat.

"You didn't want me to worry? You know, she asked me if I knew you? How would she even guess something like that?"

My whole world is his glittering eyes. His voice, quiet. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Knife, sharp pressure against my skin.

No Ray I say no please no I never told her anything she gave me a sandwich you know how cops are they ask questions and she thinks I have no home and maybe thought I ran away and you were taking care of me-—

PAIN red hot on my throat.

Because you do take care of me, Ray, you do, and she could probably tell you were careful and would take care of someone and wanted you to know that you could tell she liked you everyone likes you and when I went to Jake I made sure he-—

He sticks the knife in my shoulder and I scream.

Silence and then I am swaying, no words for what it's like. I thought living dead girls couldn't feel pain, thought I was emptied out but I'm not, I'm not.

Ray please Ray I love you he's bringing her to the park tonight Annabel will be there tonight I told him (don't say his name, don't say it, that's what made my shoulder scream, blood beating in it like a heart, thump-pain-thump-pain) I would see him he hates her and wants her to go away I can tell he will be there she will be there we can get her-—

Knock on the door, and "Shut up," Ray hisses, grabbing my jaw and squeezing it, all the words I was going to say, my plan my stupid plan I forgot and then remembered and the food I ate and the money still in my pocket, all the words in my mouth he squeezes closed.

Room swirling, everything feels so far away.

"Yes," I hear Ray say and I am leaning against the wall, propped on my left side like a broom. I can see the knife handle. Blood red everywhere, down my shirt, on the floor. "Yes, that was my daughter. She was making a salad and cut herself, no, I already called an ambulance but you know how traffic is so I'm driving her there now. Thank you."

PAIN.

Knife on the floor, I see it, it's not in me, but Ray's fingers are there, are digging into me, dragging me up.

"Shut up and put this on," he says, handing me his old shirt, the one he wears when he fixes his truck, smells like him and car, and then box under his arm we go down the stairs and into the truck and then out onto the road, gone.

The highway is exactly 2.3 miles from the apartment. Ray told me this when we moved in and said to remember it. 2.3 miles was all he had to drive to get on the road that leads to 623 Daisy Lane.

"What time is the boy bringing Annabel?" he says.

"When she gets back," I gasp, watching as the highway sign comes closer, closer. "Six. He said six."

Ray turns, and we leave the highway sign behind.

HE TIES MY ARM UP WITH ONE OF his old shirts, ripping it open along the side. "You gotta be strong to do something like this. Did you know that? I'm very strong."

I know you are, Ray. You were stronger than me when I followed you into a parking lot. You are stronger than me now.

"Annabel will be safe with you," I say. "So much safer than she is now."

"Does it hurt?" he says, touching my shoulder, and when I nod because it does and because I know his questions, he sighs and says, "Good. I'm sorry, but you ... You've really disappointed me, Alice. Now, you make it
up to me tonight, and we'll just go straight to the desert. Deal?"

He is lying. Ray lies to everyone--at work, at church, when you look at him on the street and see just another guy. But he does not lie to me. I have seen inside him because I come from him. He created me, and now he is talking to me like he talks to them. To everyone else.