WISHBONE (37 page)

His panic turned to irritation. “The crutches, Sarah,” he bellowed. “Unless you want me to piss right here.” He took another long drag and loudly released the smoke from his lungs.

Sarah held her head low but got to her feet obediently and disappeared into the hall. Julien finished his smoke then stubbed it out carelessly on the pristine wooden surface of the nightstand. 

Sarah returned with the crutches, the smell of roasting chicken trailing in behind her.

They’re cooking.

Rachael…we need to talk.

He had nothing to lose and planned to confront his wife. They would do with him as they pleased regardless of what he said or for however long he cooperated. There was no use in being afraid anymore; there was nothing to lose.

He took the crutches from Sarah essentially ignoring her. She stared down at the bed, her bottom lip quivered. He slid his leg to the floor, relieved to find there was little pain. He got up and steadied himself on the crutches. Shoulder to shoulder, he paused to look at her standing beside him; Sarah didn’t move but continued to stare down at the empty bed sulking.  He moved around her, silently making his way to the bathroom.

Once again, he eyed an unrecognizable, emaciated reflection. Dark circles surrounding souless eyes, his conscience hounding him with pessimistic banter. He placed the crutches against the wall behind him trying to ignore his inner voice. He splashed some water on his face. Again, the device caught the lip of the bathroom sink and the vibration of metal jerking bone resonated within his thigh. Furious, he slammed his palms down upon the sink.

Fuck me!

Then he realized, he felt nothing. He placed his hands on a section of the framework and looked away. Slowly, he pulled on the device then applied pushed down in the opposite direction. Squeamishly, he looked down at his grip and repeated the motion. He stepped onto the leg with all of his weight. The framework was doing its job and holding him together. He took a step, the device was bulky and awkward, but he managed. Whatever Sarah had done, if it were not for the cumbersome configuration of the device, he could walk with no more than a dull ache. 

She doesn’t need to know.

Maybe she does know?

He took the crutches and left the bathroom. Sarah was gone. 

He left the room and crept down the hall. The house was eerily quiet. He passed the nursery then took a few steps backward; something had caught his eye. The room was still, a feeling of emptiness, yet he could see the baby motionless in the crib. He crutched closer to have a peek at her sleeping beneath a blanket. A nearly-empty bottle of formula lay on its side against the crib bars. He stood looking down over the blanket as several seconds passed. Something felt wrong, a knot formed in the pit of his stomach and he envisioned the worst. He placed a hand upon her. His heart pounding.

What did you do, Sarah?

He whipped the blanket back, tossing it aside in the crib. The baby bottle slipped through the bars and rolled across the wood floor leaving droplets of rancid formula in a trail behind him. Julien looked down upon a teddy bear staring past him, its brown plastic eyes transfixed on the ceiling. Embarrassed and relieved, he huffed.

Rachael is so protective of the baby.

She would never allow Sarah a chance to hurt her.

He turned and scanned the room again; the sound of the screen door below echoed up the stairs; he quickly crutched to the hall.

The staircase was much easier for him to maneuver now. He listened for Rachael, but the first floor was silent. Reaching the bottom, he entered the kitchen, but no one was there. The dense aroma of roasting bird and the arid oven heat engulfed him. He was starving. He opened the refrigerator and assessed its limited contents. He took out a gallon of milk and unscrewed the cap sniffing it first then gulping the milk straight from its plastic jug. He placed it on the counter and returned his attention to the nearly empty shelves. He found condiments and some rotting side dishes, but the girls were obviously still living on the chickens alone. He removed a jar of peanut butter from the door and unscrewed its lid. He dug his fingers into the hardened spread and scooped out a large wad; his mouth was watering. He licked his fingers like a stray dog lapping a tuna can. He dug in for a second helping then grabbed the jug of milk for another swig. He left both on the counter and moved to the coffee pot which was empty.

Where the hell is Rachael?

It was not like his wife to allow for a dormant coffeepot. He spotted her purse on the counter where it usually sat.

She must be here.

He leaned over the sink to scan the property beyond the window. The Lexus was parked at the base of the porch steps where he last remembered seeing it; as was his bike. He would have given anything to straddle the Indian Chief and go.

You and I have a date as soon as I can get this shit off of me.

While his ability to get around was dramatically improved, the cumbersome device would not allow for a motorcycle getaway. He admired the bike for a time, lost in thought and wondering how he would convince Rachael to leave Kings Hollow.

He removed his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and realized he had left his Zippo upstairs. He moved to the junk drawer in search of a replacement and in the process nearly impaled himself on a pair of wire cutters hidden beneath some menus.

P’tain!

Fucking shit.

He sucked at a small drop of blood at the side of his finger and decided to give up and use a stove burner instead. He tilted his head and bent before the flame. As he inhaled, a flash of movement, just beyond the bay window, caught his eye. The golden retriever flew past the house, darting across the lawn toward the barn.

You…

Julien made his way to the glass for a better look. As he did, his eyes fell upon Sarah inside the coop, but she moved quickly and disappeared out of view in an instant. He looked back around for the dog which he found relentlessly sniffing and pawing at something beside the pond.

What the hell is that?
 

The dog bounded around a white, motionless object, wildly hopping and bowing in an overzealous dance of play.

Mon Dieu…

If you killed one of those ducks…so help you dog.

Almost positive of what he was seeing, Julien shook his head sadly. Julien watched intently as the dog pushed at the rigid bird. A piercing noise blared overhead and he nearly fell over on his crutches. He rushed to open the oven and remove the cooked hen hoping stop the wailing smoke detector. He tossed the pan on top of the burners, splattering grease on the stovetop then hurriedly looking around for something to stand on and reach the ear-splitting alarm. He realized this would be impossible while wearing the device. Instead, he whacked the smoke detector repeatedly with a crutch until the culprit fell open and he could free the battery with a crutch tip. A plastic catch broke and fell to his shoulder, allowing the battery to dangle like a pendulum from the equipment. The house fell silent. He turned away to catch his breath and his eyes caught view of the dog still tormenting the dead duck.

What if it isn’t dead…only injured?

He left the kitchen heading out after the dog. The awkwardness of the device kept his pace slow and exhausting, frustrating him along the way. The use of crutches turned forty feet into what felt like forty miles. Halfway to the dog, he was out of breath and needing a break. He paused before starting up again, now yelling for the dog to leave the bird alone. The wayward retriever turned to face him then broke into a run bolting in his direction. Julien stopped to brace himself for the playful attack, but instead, it came skidding to a halt a few feet away. It bounced in circles around him, seemingly wary of the crutches.

“Good boy…girl? What are you?” He moved forward again. “Crazy…that is what you are.” The dog travelled patiently alongside him, seeming to hang on his every word.

“You better not have hurt the birds, you crazy thing,” he said.   

They were about ten feet from the object when Julien stopped. He couldn’t trust his eyes.  In shock, he picked up speed then tossed the crutches to the side, taking the last few rushed steps unassisted. He dropped down on one knee, stunned, kneeling beside baby Jessica. She was lifeless, wrapped in a white blanket and lying face down in the moist dirt surrounding the pond. Struggling to maintain balance, his confined leg rigid and jutting to his side, he unbundled the baby, but she was cold and firm in his hands. He leaned close to attempt CPR, but stopped before his lips met her tiny face; she was too far gone and any attempt at resuscitation would be pointless. Julien let go of his daughter. He fell over onto his side and cried out across the acreage.

“RACHAEL!” His bellowing voice reverberated off the mountains. Birds fluttered out from trees in the distance. 

The dog yipped and darted off fearfully. Julien looked around, panting and frantic, but Rachael never appeared. He glanced toward the barn, but there was no sign of Sarah either. He looked back to baby Jessica, his body quivering, he reached his breaking point at last and crumbled under the weight of the tragedy. Sobbing, he thought again how Rachael would never allow the baby to be hurt. This was Sarah’s doing. 

Julien gave out a primal scream, “SARAH!” His voice ricocheted off the hills again.

A hawk circled above, its shrill vocalization breaking the echo. There was no movement in or around the barn. Julien attempted to pull himself together, only to be overcome with emotion once more. He scooped the baby into his arms and fought to get back up. He had taken just a few steps when he saw her above the roof. Swaying slowly back and forth and hanging just below the black pointed cap of the widow’s walk was Rachael supported by a rope around her neck.      

Paralyzed by the scene, he looked down at the body of his daughter hugged tightly to his chest, then back to her mother. For a fleeting moment he felt the world spin and he thought he was falling, but the ground never came. His pulse pounded rapidly creating a swooshing sound in his ear; as quickly as it came on, his shock disappeared and he rushed for the porch. Grabbing the banister and moving quickly, the device caught a nail jutting from the wood railing and jerked the metal shifting his bones violently. He refused to let go of the baby as they went down, crashing to the floor. He rolled onto his back; reverberating pain paralyzed him in an instant. No sound could escape him as he lay there writhing. There was no way he would be able to make it up the spiral staircase with the bulky device on his leg. He regained his composure as quickly as he could. Sitting up, the bones in his thigh still aching from the jolt, he held on and pulled himself up having never let go of Jessica. He swung the screen door open; his ability to walk all the more hampered now, he took the baby to the dining room table where he laid her down on her back. He choked up, but his determination propelled him and he went to the kitchen. The dog came barreling past him, sniffing and leaping up at the grease-splattered stovetop. Julien opened the junk drawer and located the wire cutters. Sweat drizzled into his eyes; he wiped his face with the back of his hand attempting to clear his vision.

She’s gone. 

Rachael’s gone.

The baby is gone.

They’re dead.

She made it look like Rachael killed the baby and then herself.

Julien slid the wire cutters between the frameworks encasing his thigh. The tool was almost too small for the girth of the screws. In frustration he whimpered, rushed, emotional and in a state of despair.

I’m coming Rachael. 

I’m coming…

Staring down, crazed, sweat in his eyes, saliva dripping from his lips; he squeezed the handle of the tool. The screw refused to give, bowing metal painfully against bone. Using the strength of both trembling hands, the metal gave way and the first screw snapped, the remaining inches vibrating internally like a tuning fork. Julien dropped the wire cutter and grabbed onto the counter to hold himself up; he thought he was about to pass out but shook it off, resolute. He stared at the ceiling and pleaded with God as he fought off nausea. He composed himself then picked the tool back up. He repeated the process again. One by one, the screws broke away. His hands grew weaker with each attempt and by the time he snapped through the last screw his palms were bloody and blistered. Large metal pins, sharp and of various lengths, were jutting from his leg in all directions. He tried to rush for the stairs, but the leg had lost some stability without its framework. He held on to anything he could and kept moving, yelling at the dog to get out of his way. His gut told him that he had been lying in that bed for days, maybe even weeks, while his wife’s body hung only several feet above him in the widow’s walk. He held tight to the banister climbing to the second floor. In the hallway he slid along the wall, exhausted but refusing to give up until he finally reached the wrought iron staircase. The narrow width made it easy for him to hold on and lift himself step by step. He paused halfway to the top and looked up at his wife’s legs swaying above him. His body threatened to give out upon the sight of her.

No!

I can fix this.

He forged on eventually reaching the top. He paused to look at her. His lungs drew in a long gasp of air as his heart sank. Rachael’s face was blue, bloated, and her eyes wide and bulging. His foot slipped in a puddle of fluid accumulating on the floor beneath her. He grabbed onto the sill to steady himself. 

Through tear-blurred vision, his body trembling, he hugged his wife’s hips, struggling to raise her and remove the rope from her neck. His leg gave out, shifting him off balance and forcing him to hold onto Rachael. The rope pulled tighter with his added weight; a crackling sound emanated from her neck. Julien cringed at the noise and righted himself instantly. Holding her up again, tears streaming down his face, he worked the rope free and allowed her to fall into his arms. They folded to the floor together.