Wounds
Part Four
From the road, he sent a brief text to Maril, “Heading to Half Moon. Sis needs help. Taking Hilda.”
As the misty redwoods flew by, he thought about Maril’s mom. When they’d first met he’d been nervous, anxious. He didn’t know how to act around moms. He’d brought her flowers, some wild irises he’d picked in the forest.
“These have bugs on them,” she’d said with her nose wrinkled.
“Got them in the woods. Prettier than the store-bought ones.” He didn’t know that for sure, but it sounded right.
“Free buggy flowers. Well,” she plunked the bundle down on the kitchen counter, “excellent job finding this one, Maril.” Maril had rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand, but he’d felt a lump rise in his throat. That night April had sat next to him on the couch, her head on his shoulder while they nursed a bottle of Jack. Motherless pups, suckling the only teat they had left.
“Fuuuck Maril’s mom,” he said as he hung his cigarette out the window. He didn’t even care why she was in the hospital. Hopefully the old bag was getting her colon suctioned.
When they stopped for gas he skimmed Maril’s stream of indignant texts. April had abandoned him, but she, Maril, had been there. Now her mom was sick and he was just leaving?
April hadn’t abandoned him. She’d tried to get him to move with her, get a job, start an honest life, but he couldn’t leave. Not because of Maril. Maril was still around because she’d never left, Vincent was still around because something wouldn’t leave him. Something old had grown into his flesh and into his bones, left his marrow weedy and tangled with ghosts. Or roots. He looked at his arms, there was no sign that anything had been growing out of them the night before. Not the slightest mark remained. A fucking hallucination. Even the warmth he’d felt had faded. Some madness had hatched in his brain that day with Pop and the dead guy in the forest, and it had been growing ever since.
His stomach grumbled.
“Still need to eat when you’re mental I guess.”
Tucked off the main highway, was a gas station, a McDonald’s, and a bait shop surrounded on all sides by redwoods. Leaning against the Jeep while the fuel nozzle ticked, Vincent watched the trees move, creaking as they leaned toward him, towering over the road and sending shadows creeping fingering in his direction. And then a semi drove by and they weren’t moving at all, they were normal, upright trees. The gas handle clicked.
“Jesus,” Vincent flinched. Through the Jeep’s dirty window he could see Hilda asleep on the seat. His hand shook as he took the handle out of the tank and slotted it back into the pump. Maybe if he kept heading south, all those roots would rip right out of him and he’d be free. Did the redwoods in Half Moon communicate with the redwoods up here?
Asking insane questions. Or was he? Trees did communicate, he knew that. It was science shit. There were fungal networks everywhere. Fungi were humanity’s real Big Brother. In our bodies, our brains. In all the plants, fuck they grew into our buildings, too. Trees in Half Moon probably used the shroom web to communicate with trees here in Orick.
“But they don’t communicate about you, you fucking idiot,” he muttered under his breath as he got back in the car. Hilda lifted her head and snorted at him. He patted her flank. Girl loved her sleep. She’d wake up once there was food in the car, that was for sure.
It was still daylight when Vincent pulled up in front of April’s little ranch-style house. Bikes and toys littered the front lawn and a big orange tabby lounged in the late afternoon sun. Ten minute walk to the beach. He could have this life, but he chose- He was a fool, truly.
The kids came bursting out the door before Vincent had even gotten out of the jeep. He climbed out of the cab and accepted the mauling of hugs and squeals. They were seven and nine, two girls. Hilda twisted in and around the group licking faces and squirming in the way only a well behaved dog who is barely keeping it together can.
Vincent had stopped off and grabbed gifts for the girls. Booze and weed for April and Macintyre, her husband. The girls jumped and screamed, “Thank you Uncle Vincent!” in chorus before they ran off to unwrap and play, Hilda ran off after them.
“Little Bro! Good to see you man, it’s been too long,” Macintyre, a shaggy surfer with a dad bod, pulled him into a hug and slapped his back. Over his shoulder Vincent eyed the big coast live oak looming over the yard as its shade seemed to wrap around him, branches reaching out.
“Yeah, man, sorry, Maril hates road trips.”
“You dump her yet?”
“Mac! Jesus.” April, still tiny and a little mean looking, play punched his shoulder and shook her head as she took her little brother into her arms. “I missed you, you big idiot.”
Vincent swiped moisture from his eyes. “Fuck, I’ve missed you guys, too.” He cleared his throat, “Alright, alright, let’s get inside and crack open all this booze. I got catching up to do.”
As the front door shut behind him, he glanced back at the big oak, reaching out for him.
Vincent winced at the screech of the metal bay door grinding up on its rollers. It had been a good night. A little too good, he felt like his brain might explode out of his eye sockets at any moment.
“Well, here it is. Dad’s junk. What we didn’t toss anyway.” April wore dark glasses and sipped a sparkling water as they watched the sickly green motion-activated lights flicker on. Boxes stood against one wall. A pile of shed antlers was tangled against the other. In the center stood an antique dresser with an Elvis lamp resting on top. “Any idea what you’re looking for?”
“Something to do with mom’s murder I think.”
“Old bastard probably didn’t keep anything. You know what he said when he came to get me from school that day? He said, ‘April, you’re motherless now and I ain’t making it easy on ya.’”
“Fucking asshole.”
April took a sip of her sparkling water. “I kept thinking, nobody hits you in Heaven, so it’s better for her and I’ll get out of this someday. But boy did I wan’t to punch his fucking face.”
“You were pretty much the only mom I remember. I don’t think I would have made it without you.” Vincent squeezed her hand.
“Don’t make me cry, I’ll throw up,” she groaned.
Vincent laughed and stepped into the storage unit. “What did you guys do with that old skull?”
“Gross. Mac and I filled it with concrete and threw it in the ocean.”
Vincent nodded. “Actually, I don’t think this will take long. Didn’t know you saved the dresser.”
He went to the six-drawer, badly finished piece of furniture and pulled open the third drawer down. Reaching up to the bottom of the drawer above he felt an envelope taped to the bottom and pulled it off.
“What is that?” April walked over to him and grabbed the envelope. “How did you know?”
“He used to keep acid tabs hidden there sometimes.” Vincent shrugged. April hit him with the envelope.
“And you never told me?”
“You were the smart one, I didn’t want you to get messed up.”
“You think they’re still good?” She opened the envelope, “Oh my god.” April dropped the empty envelope and put a hand to her mouth.
“What is it?”
She handed him a picture. “She wore that the day she died.”
Vincent felt the edges of his world go black and he sucked in a breath. In the photo he was holding a purple sippy cup in his mother’s arms. She wore a green dress, and they stood in front of the madrone.
“We did live there when I was little.”
“That’s where you live now? Really? That’s where she died, Vin.”
“I keep having this dream where I’m dressed just like that, with that cup and mom is in that dress.”
“Oh, Vin.”
“I think I might have seen it happen.”
“And then the murderer put you in your crib before they left…” April pulled him into a hug.
“I wish I could see who put me in the crib.”
“Maybe you’re trying to.”
“Remember, yeah. I guess that’s why I feel like I’m losing my mind, huh?” He didn’t buy that, but it might make April feel better.
The men his father fingered for the murder had been acquitted. He’d grunted at the news and never looked back. They’d both died in a freak accident in the forest after being released from jail. His father had never mentioned their mother, the men who allegedly killed her, or the murder again.
“Why do you think he never remarried?”
April scoffed, “No one else would stick around.”
Vincent nodded. He’d been “mothered” by an endless stream of women. By the time he’d turned twelve he didn’t even bother learning their names. He’d give them nicknames, things like Drumstick, Susie Stoner, or there was Bass Face and eventually her sister, Spider Snake.
“You remember my prom?”
“He let you buy a dress, get all dolled up, only to deadbolt you inside and sit by the door with a shotgun… aimed at you.”
“And I sat there all night, too, I wouldn’t go to bed. I made him sit there and watch me until sunup. Then he fell asleep and I snuck out. Mac took me to breakfast.”
“You and Mac are lucky.”
“Aw, get rid of Maril, you’ll find somebody. You need to move down here though. I’m going to keep saying it. Fresh meat and all.”
Vincent laughed, “I know. I just need to figure out what’s-“
Vincent’s phone chimed, he looked at it, more to keep tears from falling than because he cared.
“Maril’s mom died. I guess I have to go back.”
“Can’t you just break up with her?”
Vincent laughed, “A little harsh.”
“I guess.”
“I think dad killed her.”
“I’ve thought about that. He had an alibi, but it was just some drinking buddy, so…”
“And those two guys he framed?”
“Oh definitely. Woulda been him or them, the way things are up there.”
“I wish I could remember.”
“Do you though?”
“Yeah. I do.”
He told Maril he’d leave as soon as he could and be back sometime in the night. He’d call her later. He loved her, he was sorry. He’d explain everything.
After an early dinner, he was back on the road. He left Hilda with the girls, just in case things got even weirder, and drove back alone.
Well, shit... a gripping tale!! Awesomely done, as always. 😶 I'll be back for part 5 then.