Milk-Blood (3 page)

Then the pillow smothered her face, pressed against her mouth with
Zach’s full weight.

She was the one being put to sleep.

Brought to life by the fear of death, her body burned with a new strength. She reached up for his arms and scratched, grabbed, and beat on anything she could. Nothing let up. His arms were taut and thick like a piece of firewood. She tried to murmur something but there was no room for words or screams.

A burning started inside of her where her lungs ached for air. Her head got fuzzy. She saw visions of Zach raising this child on his own. Both of them were smiling, both were monsters. This was his plan all along, to make her have this baby and then get rid of her. All she could do was
scream on the inside with her lungs on fire.

You and th
is child will not live in peace. I will come for her.

The
beating
of her heart was so loud she was sure it would be heard by neighbors and they would save her. This couldn’t be the end. Something had to happen.

It did not.
The last heartbeats of her life were the most rapid, powerful ones she had in all of her 26 years. Her brain went dead, her heart stopped beating, blood no longer passed through her veins, but the fire inside burned eternal.

Chapter Three: Zach Talks to the Detectives

Lilly’s tiny body was held up against his chest and her head rested on the top of his shoulder. With one large hand on her back held firm he was able to move about the house. He was making his mom a grilled cheese and tomato soup, but the damn soup splattered in the microwave and the grilled cheese got so dark he might have to start over. It made him dash about the kitchen, and the milk in Lilly’s stomach was surely swirling about.

Don’t puke, damn it, stay down.

She’d drunk half the bottle, which was more than usual, and he was just waiting for the vomit to come
up. Each bottle she took this week has been followed by sticky and warm goop out of her mouth, like some bird shit, and it ended up all over his back.

He was sure she could feel his chest vibrate with anger whenever this happened. This baby had become part of his own heartbeat, and her milky spit up began to coat his life. It would end up on her bib, her blankets, on the bed sheets, and dribbling down her chin. He got used to its smell everywhere. It was the stink of her sickened insides.

But she needed to be fed and grow. She needed to get smart and fast. He couldn’t keep this up forever. He needed for her brain to grow inside that shrunken skull of hers.

And the way her skin was, it seemed all of her organs could be seen by everyone. Hospital doctors called it cyanosis.
They talked about surgery and survival rates. They explained it with low confidence but in high terms, talked with their hands, and went on as long as they needed to until everyone was bored and confused enough not to ask any more questions.

The words mixed in with those of
geriatric doctors who rambled on about his mom’s blood thinners and diabetes and wound vacs, until all of it was a sloppy mix of medical jargon and the two women had become one big patient.

Zac was the one keeping both of them alive.
You don’t put down a child’s mom without taking care of the child, that was a code he felt inside that was impossible to break. If Lilly’s heart stopped beating, so would his own. And you take care of your own mother, best you can with what you got. Now he had one baby in the crib, and the other woman on the couch, both needing to be fed. Easy the first of the month when Mamma’s check comes and food stamp money renews, but some days best he can do is not enough.

Zach had just succeeded
in chopping off the crusts of the grilled cheese, making it into squares of four, when there was a knock at the door. He knew from instinct it was a detective knock. Or a cop’s knock. Or Protective Service or someone with a badge and uniform. There were badges behind that rap.

He didn’t answer, so harder detective knocks came.
Meal’s gonna get cold, he thought, and his momma would have to wait on the couch. He tried to hurry, and the sharp ridges of the food-pantry soup can top cut into his skin, right on the edge of drawing blood, but none came forth.

Never look down and to the left. Then they know you are lying. And never give anything up. Never give anything up. Mutter “
lawyer” if you have to. And expect tricks. They will rephrase your words into something different and see if you agree to a different version. They will say they have an eyewitness. They will try to be your friend and say, “I am just like you. I understand why you did it, she deserved it.” These guys get off on confessions like it’s their smack. They sneak into your head and make you say shit and do shit and laugh to their family about you when they go home.

Lilly was like a kangaroo cub nestled in the pouch of his hand when he opened the front door and saw the cops. Plain clothes cops.
Or detectives, either way. One black, one white, and two more officers in a squad car on the street with the blue lights on. The lights flashed and spun, flashed and spun, hitting the house again and again, and were just part of the cop’s power play. His brother Nelson next door, who was too chicken shit to help take care of their mom, had certainly seen the squad cars by now as well.

“
We doing this once more?” Zach asked before they could speak. Lilly kept facing her head in different directions against his shoulder.

“We will come back until she’s found,” the cop answered. “I know you want that.”

“So you say. You get out there and find her then.”

“It’s what we have been doing. And we know you have been too. We just need more information from you. We will work together. We know you want to find her.”

“For sure I do. I can’t do this on my own. We all need her here. If she wants to, we are here waiting.”

“Then you need to tell us again when you saw her last. Maybe you remember something else. Then we can help. You mind if we come in?” The white cop feigned manners, and Zach remembered him. He was here a month ago for the search warrant with disdain in his eyes and a cocky walk. Today they sent a new black guy with him. Guy was young and wouldn’t lock eyes with Zach at all costs. Zach saw that.

“You want me to lie? You tell your own lies like you want. This is my truth. And I told you, we had a fight, I went to bed,
then she was gone. She’s with that man Jeremiah Puckett, I know it.”

“It’s the Puckett family who say different,” the white cop said as the black one took a step inside. Zach squeezed tighter onto Lilly and let go of the door. “We might not even be here just for your woman missing. Figured she would leave you. That we might believe. Maybe that girl you’re holding wants her momma back, but nobody else does. But the Puckett family…they got friends.”

“I already talked about all of this and that junkie ass Puckett. They recorded me. You heard it. But you want to keep coming to see me, go ahead come on in.” Zach stepped back and felt his skin start to itch. He sniveled in some mucus, felt sweat. He hadn’t had a bit of his own Vicodin in hours.

The cops took a step in and their eyes scanned the place. One gave a nod to Zach’s mom who was on the couch. She didn’t nod back, but her mouth chomped, like a horse, always moistening her mouth and her lips. Swallowing was getting harder for her. Someday he’d have to suction it up they said.

“Look, we aren’t accusing you of anything. We aren’t going there,” the cop who had been silent finally spoke. “Just tell us more so we can find out what happened after your fight. And… ” he paused as if waiting to see if Zach would speak, “we got a guy who saw you with her after that night you say she went missing, a guy who says he will testify you were angry if he has to. We thought that was odd he’d lie on you like that.”

Z
ach adjusted Lilly in his arms. There had been no vomit. The formula she took down had stayed in her gut. Like him, she learned to keep shit in her mouth and not puke up at the wrong time when a cop was in your face.

“You got a guy, huh? Everybody’s got a guy. You got a guy like that then I’m in cuffs. So be it. I got a girl. Two of them. I got to go. I got my momma who’s hungry and my daughter in my hands. You think I don’t want you to find her and to help take care of my momma and this sick little kid? My momma’s starting to forget things and will need diapers soon as this girl needs none. And this baby girl goes to the hospital every few days. You want to arrest me. Again. You get me a fuckin nanny to take care of them. Go ahead, I need a break.”

“
Could be you just enjoy getting your mother’s check. We know you are her payee each month. And I can arrest you for something easy. We can get a warrant to search your mother’s ass, you know that.”

“And I know y’all will.
You will enjoy that shit. Now happy holidays, and be gone.”

Zach could hear his momma’s breathing change from the couch. He grabbed the door as if to swing it closed, but just then the black cop stuck his finger towards Lilly’s chest. He placed it inside Lilly’s tiny palm like he was some politician. Before Zach could pull away,
Lilly grasped it, as if a finger in her hand was new.

“And don’t think child protective service is done yet.”

Child protective service.
CPS was worse than cops.

Child protective service workers were just angry women trying to fuck with his life. They already had a CPS woman come to the house to look inside each cupboard. They made Zach get a new crib that didn’t have
side-sliding gates. They talked to him like he was a child and warned him about heating up formula in a microwave and to swear he never would. Made him show where he would keep the medications locked. He had to get new screens upstairs. He had to sign a release so the woman could talk to Lilly’s doctors and confirm she was going to her appointments and getting treated for her heart defect. All of that, and she still wrote in her report that he may not be capable of taking care of an old woman and a young infant at the same time.

The cop
poked his fingers at Lilly like they were family. Zach waited, patient, felt like a dog getting its ass sniffed, but had nearly had enough. The man finally pulled his finger away.

“If you ask me, this
ain’t barely even a child. Some kind of alien. What is this damn blue thing anyways?”

Zach’s chest beat in anger. Lilly was held up against it, and her own leaking heart certainly felt the thump.

“You know anything sweet pea?" The cop asked as if Lilly could understand. “What do you know about your mommy? If you could talk, you would tell us everything. Maybe someday you will.”

The cop looked up into Zach’s eyes, felt the burn of his gaze
, but didn’t back down. “If she could talk, she would tell us everything, because she wants you gone to prison,” he said. “She knows you can’t take care of her.”

If Zach’s hands were free of the child, he would have taken a swing. A right hook to his cheek would knock him off guard, and then a barrage of punches would follow. But the child in his arms stopped all of this, and he kept his mouth shut and his fist unclenched. His unreleased tension seethed throughout the room, the temperature climbed, his nerves vibrated.

The moment was interrupted by the smacking of his mom’s tongue. She was listening from the couch, wetting her lips, and about to speak.

“You men.
You two all up in here while your people across the street doing the real work. They talking to that sad homeless man right now, the real menace of this street. He’s no good. He knows things. Go outside, sure enough, you’ll see them. You’ll find everything you need from the man across the street if you just ask him in the right voice. No need to scare a tiny child before she knows she should be scared of you two. Please go, I’m sick and tired.”

Lilly started to squirm as if she was listening to her
Grandma speak. Zach positioned her so that her head was looking over his shoulder, and then he felt a gas bubble come up her chest and vomit came out of her mouth. Warm spit-up was on his back.

“We’ll try another time
ma’am,” one cop responded. “I know we all want what’s best.”

Zach patted Lilly’s back and watched the cops walk out the door. It was clear he had won this round, but the victory wasn’t complete until they drove off. Instead, they wa
ndered across the street with guns and cuffs blazing on their belts. They were off to join the other two cops who were talking to the crazy homeless man, just like his momma said. Four cops, all waving their flashlights and walking in circles like it was a crime scene, not looking for clues—looking for a crime.

Zach knew t
he squatter was too crazy to say much. He’d heard the man blabbing to himself before like he was at church speaking in tongues. The man was frantically checking his pockets, waving his hands in the air, and certainly the cops would tire of this. Zach closed the door and let them be.

“How did you know what was going on out there
, Ma?”

“Those men,” his mom said, and smacked her lips
, “what do they know? Don’t know this street like I do. Like you do. I know what time it is. I know when there’s a woman getting beat on three doors down at the Bloomers, or when Ronnie Harris is back in lock-up. We got that power to know. You got that power. I know what you do. Doesn’t mean I’m no witch like they say. Just means we watch and feel. We know check dates. We know the weather. We know who got tires stolen by how cars set up on the bricks. Don’t need a badge for that. Know how to make money off suburban kids looking for the crack rocks like you do. Know when to duck and take care of business.”

Mom’s
eyes looked around the room like she was talking to spirits and not to her son. Some day she wouldn’t even know my name, Zach thought. He knew this day was coming.

“They don’t know shit
, Ma, you are right about that.”

And Lilly didn’t know anything either, and wouldn’t say anything if she could talk.

She’d never know that the same hand that patted her back softly to cough up the milky vomit had held down a pillow over her mother’s face until she died. These hands also burned the body with gas, dug a hole, buried the body with fertilizer, chopped at it with the shovel, and covered it up.

The police did come back the next day to search the home with another warrant. They sifted through the cereal boxes, through
Grandma’s old makeup, through her incontinence supplies. They found one mostly smoked joint. No guns, no bodies, no blood of Latrice on anything, just an expired license plate on Zach’s car. They should have searched the house across the street, about three feet under the ground in the back yard. The homeless riff raff who littered the lawn of the burnt out house were sitting on Lilly’s momma. Zach had returned her to the home he exploded with a firebomb made of vodka. He buried her there.