Berger

 

One thing I didn’t miss about down here was the sand. It was everywhere, sticking to the sweat on my body. It was in my eyes, up my nose, covering my hair in a thin film of grit. I rubbed at my face and it was like pressing salt into my skin.

Below me, Norma’s body lay face down. I couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes, so haunted, so hollow, and I couldn’t stand the sight of her lips where flies were already nesting amongst the soft tissue of her mouth.

Bosworth had lost his mind, I was sure of it. He’d watched me drag Norma’s body into the boot of my car wearing nothing but his underpants with a drink in his hand. He regarded us as though we were a mildly entertaining movie, as though we weren’t even real.

Even as I drove away, he made no attempt to say a final farewell to the woman who gave birth to the girl he loved.

“Fucking madman,” I said to myself as I thrust the tip of the shovel into the scorched earth. “Money’s gone to his head.”

My shoulders burned with the effort of digging into the ground. It was solid and baked with no bugs escaping as I thrashed away at the mud. Nothing could live out here in the desert. Nothing could survive the heat apart from the barbed plants that stuck out the ground ready to fight.

After two hours and six cigarettes, the hole was big enough to fit her. There was no gracious way to get her into it, no great ceremony, just a kick with a grunt and she was toppling into the hole taking a gust of dust with her. She landed on her back staring up at me.

“I’m real sorry, Norma,” I said. “I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were soft and gluey, her lids slightly sunken. There were more flies now and the smell was increasing by the second. Meanwhile, the sun was sinking turning the sky a sinister and cold shade of blue. The stars began to twinkle like pinholes of light. The brightest star seemed to be hovering right above me. I couldn’t explain it but I had the weirdest feeling that it was Norma and she was somehow looking down on me. I shivered and hurried to shovel the dirt over her.

“Sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry.”

It was quicker filling the hole back in and when it was done, I slumped to the floor and held my head in my hands. My eyes were stinging with sweat and my head was pounding. This was not what I needed to arrive to. I needed a friend, a drink and maybe a hug. I needed Bosworth to be freakin’ normal for once.

When the sky turned black, I grabbed the shovel and my jacket and walked back to the car. It still smelled like decomposition and I held a hand over my mouth as I opened all the windows and sped down the road in a bid to blast it with cool air.

Now that I was down here, I didn’t know what to do. Something insane was going on at the house and I didn’t want to know what it was. Not just yet anyway. I drove off toward the direction of San Lucrezia. The lights glittered like dragonflies in the distance, promising me a good time.

As the car slinked its way down the hill and amongst the narrow streets and houses, people looked out their windows as I passed. A girl stepped out onto her balcony and flicked her glossy hair over her shoulder. She had the same tone of olive skin as Miranda. It made my stomach clench tight with regret.

The bar on the corner had its doors swinging open and shut every few seconds as people drifted out. Some were alone with only a cigarette for company while others were in each other’s arms or locked in a kiss.

I entered alone and felt the heaviness of the solemn atmosphere. It was then that I saw the wreaths stacked up around the room and heard the distant cries of a woman in the corner. I looked over and saw a gorgeous creature with long, silky curls and red lips that were smudged at the edges. She was sobbing into a handkerchief, only stopping to take a drink from the large bottle of beer the man beside her held.

“Fuck.”

I was on the cusp of heading right back out the door when the young boy behind the bar slid a beer down the counter.

“On the house,” he said.

I noticed his eyes were swollen. He must have been crying too.

“Erm, thanks.”

“You’re a friend of Bosworth, right?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, I remember you coming in here before,” said the boy.

I perched on the edge of a stool but didn’t want to make myself too comfortable. I wanted out of here as soon as possible. Still, I had to admit that I needed the beer and it went down smooth and cold. It was so cold it sent a shiver down my spine. Holding the bottle to my head, I took a deep breath and realized just how exhausted I was.

“Having a rough day?” asked the boy.

“Well, I thought I was but something tells me you guys are a having a worse time.”

I flicked my eyes over in the direction of the wailing woman surrounded by flowers.

“Funeral?”

The boy nodded.

“My cousin Lol,” said the boy. “You might remember her. She worked here too.”

I cast my mind back to the few nights I’d spent in here with Bosworth and the girls but I couldn’t seem to remember her.

“Looked just like her mother,” said the boy and nodded toward the woman who was rubbing her eyes now and talking rapidly to herself.

“Yeah, I think I remember her,” I said but I really couldn’t.

An old man approached the bar and the boy turned to serve him. There was something peculiar about him, something sinister. Maybe it was the look in his wolfish eyes or maybe it was that he had hands so strong I imagined they could kill someone with a single squeeze. He may have been old, but he wasn’t frail and there were lines on his face like a map to his life. This guy had seen things.

He noticed me staring and slowly turned his head. His eyes ran up and down my body with a look of pure contempt.

“American?”

“Yup.”

“With Bosworth,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I can’t go anywhere without someone mentioning him,” I said.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t repeat himself. Instead he lit two cigarettes and handed me one.

“Thanks.”

“You look like you need it,” he said. “You’ve had a bad day too?”

“Is it so easy to tell?”

“You smell like death,” said the old man. “And there’s blood on your shoes.”

I looked down and saw my feet as though I was just noticing them for the first time.

“Shit!”

The old man laughed.

“We’ve all had those days.”

“Really?”

“Hey, I won’t ask questions.”

I’d never wanted to leave somewhere so much in my whole life. I slid off the stool and slapped the old guy on the back. It was like high fiving the rump of a bison.

“Thanks for the smoke.”

“Hey, don’t leave so soon. Stay a while.”

“I… I can’t.”

“Have somewhere to be?”

I thought about returning to the house and I couldn’t even fathom what Lincoln would be doing.

“Not yet,” I said and sat back down. “I guess I could stay for another.”

I raised two fingers to the boy and he brought over a bottle of cherry wine. Fuck, I thought. Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere for a long while.

“I am having a bad day too,” said the old man.

The wailing behind us had started up again. Looking round, I saw the woman rocking back and forth as she sobbed.

“You knew her?” I asked. “The girl who… worked here.”

“Lol was my grand-daughter,” he explained with a sigh. “She was an angel. She really was. Had tremendous gifts and eyes like an angel. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever known. Of course she looked just like her mother.”

He fell silent and stared off at some point behind the bar. His eyes grew darker. There was a sensation emanating off him like pure hatred. I felt the urge to lean away from him or better, to run away from him. He looked like he was simmering in his anger, ready to blow at any moment.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

It sounded feeble what else could I say?

“She was murdered,” he spat.

Then he took a long gulp of the wine and slammed down the bottle.

“But cherry was her favorite.”

Once again, I stood up to leave but was thwarted by one of his thick hands gripping my bicep.

“Murdered,” he said. “Slashed until she bled out.”

“Fuck. Jesus. I’m so sorry. I really hope you catch the bastard.”

He held my gaze for a moment before bursting into a fit of girlish giggles. It was hard to tell what was making me the most uncomfortable, the sound of his hysterical voice or the fact that I’d walked in on the funeral of a murder victim.

“Catch the bastard,” he said, mocking my accent. “Sure. We catch the bastard.”

There was no denying just how shitfaced he was and at last I felt that I was able to leave. I slipped the guy a couple cigarettes and shook his hand.

“I’m really sorry about your granddaughter. Really, I am.”

He pressed his lips together, his chin wobbling as he gripped the side of the bar. Tears began to linger in the corners of his eyes. He was ready to erupt into a fit of emotion and I didn’t want to be here to see it.

“I’ll respectfully leave you and your family to mourn,” I said.

He nodded and squeezed my arm.

“Like, I said, he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

I was halfway across the bar when I took in what he said.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Bosworth…” he said, facing away from me.

There was a look of terror in the young bartender’s eyes. Around me, I could feel the heat from people staring. The crying woman was now looking right at me. She knew I wasn’t from around here and she couldn’t disguise her hatred.

I took off and felt grateful to be in the front seat of my car. Driving out to the edge of town, I sat on the hood and smoked one cigarette after another as I thought about the old man. The desert stretched out into the distance. It was beautiful in its own wild way. This whole place was beautiful but dangerous too, just like the women I suppose.

Up ahead of me, lights circled the perimeter of a building on top of a large hill. It wasn’t quite big enough to call it a mountain but at the same time, I didn’t feel much like climbing it without oxygen. Not with my lungs anyway.

There seemed to be some activity up there. Maybe they were at the funeral too, I thought. Maybe they were also the family of the girl. At first I thought the building up there was some kinda fortress, maybe an ancient structure from a bygone era. It wasn’t until I looked closer and caught the shapes of furniture through the windows that I thought it could be some sort of house.

Curious, I slid off the car and walked closer until I was at the foot of the hill looking up through the trees as people walked in and out of a grand entrance. There were more people than I first thought they were. Some were in dark uniforms while others were in suits. All of them were carrying guns. Big guns.

“This place is a fucking circus.”

Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off the entrance where people were running in an out. A group of guys rushed down the long driveway carrying anything they could hold in their arms; televisions, stereos, food, cushions, clothes, anything at all.

Then came the body bag.

Large and smooth, it was dragged through the door with no respect or ceremony. Four armed guards dragged it by its corners along the ground and into the back of a waiting van. I watched as it snaked its way down the hill toward me. I ducked behind a tree as it passed but the driver was paying little attention. He was texting as he drove and more interested in talking to the guy beside him.

“I’m outta here.”

Waiting until the lights from the van disappeared, I climbed into my own car and drove back toward the direction of Bosworth’s house. I hoped to God he’d be asleep or in his lab. Who knew what he was doing down there but I just hoped he’d leave me alone. I needed a bed, some unbroken sleep and a shower. Then I was getting the fuck away from this mad town.

I couldn’t go back home. Those bridges were burned but I could go someplace else, maybe even go further south. Who knew where my curiosity could take me? As long as I had my car and money for smokes I was happy.

As I drove back through the town, I inevitably had to pass the bar again. This time the doors were wide open so I could see inside. There were more people now, more tears and dramatic wailing. As I hit the gas to get away, I noticed a figure in the rear view mirror leaning against the wall.

There was no mistaking the posture and darkness of the old man. He was staring right at me.

“He’ll get what’s coming…”

Those words were aimed at Bosworth. The uneasiness returned to my gut as I thought about the man’s granddaughter. Slashed until she bled out. Another young girl slaughtered. The bodies followed Bosworth.

As I saw his house appear at the end of the road, I prayed that he didn’t bring his habits from the Waters’ House down here with him.