Hell Within -- Chapter Nine: The Addict -- Scenes 5-7

-5-

Terra had been a bad mother.

It was true.

She stood inside the bedroom that had been Mandy’s now, and looking at it made her ashamed of herself. It looked more like some kind of storage room with a guest bed in it rather than a bedroom.

Boxes stacked up against the wall with various articles inside.

Unused lamps and several patio chairs stacked up in the corner with an old blue cooler on top of them decorated with an Icehouse bumper sticker.

The bed itself was nothing more than a single-man trailer bed with no headboard and footboard covered by two old spare sheets and a throw pillow from the sofa. The sheets were still wrinkled from the last time Mandy had slept there.

She touched the sheets and shook her head.

Terra had treated Mandy much like a child might treat one of his least favorite toys -- keeping it in a box most of the time and only pulling it out when a use arose.

But all of that was going to end.

Tonight.

There was nothing she could do to repair the damage she’d done, but she could begin by withdrawing her opposition to the emancipation proceeding.

She was about to turn for the phone when a voice came out of nowhere that sent a chill down her spine.

"Where’s your little bitch?" Davy said.

She spun around.

She could tell immediately by his posture that he was feeling belligerent. His legs were spread shoulder width apart and his cap was pulled low on his forehead obscuring his eyes.

"You’re out?"

"Where is she?" he insisted.

She shrugged. "At the shrink’s place I guess."

"No she ain’t."

She shook her head. "I don’t know."

Davy lifted his right hand, and she was so shocked by what she saw him pointing at her that it didn’t register to her at first that he had a gun aimed at her.

"Don’t fuck with me," he said.

"I wouldn’t."

He took a step toward her.

"I know what the fuck you are. I’ve had hundreds of women just like you. They’ll fuck you and then steal you blind."

"Davy?"

Then there was a loud thud much like the sound of an axe splitting a watermelon.

Davy’s head lurched forward, and he stared at Terra for a long moment with a look of utter confusion.

Then his legs simply gave way beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Terra screamed and stumbled backwards.

And nothing but thick silence followed in the wake, and the sound of air from outside rushing in.

She took a step toward Davy and stopped.

"Hello?"

No answer.

She stepped up to Davy’s limp form in the hallway and kicked the pistol away from his hand, and then she hunkered down and peeked around the corner into the den and kitchen area.

The front door was flapping open as if someone had hastily bolted out.

To the left of the kitchen and just inside the den, a small end table sat beside the couch -- a table with a pasteboard frame meant to look like maple with a glass top. And the cordless phone lay face down on top of it.

"Hello?" she said again.

Nothing.

She turned around and looked back down at Davy. The back of his head appeared to be intact accept for a small dribbling of blood down his left temple.

Something hit her in the back hard causing her to bend her shoulders back. She looked down to find something pointed and metal poking through her shirt just to the right of her breastbone.

She shrieked and reached around her back just as the second blow fell. It seemed to hit her hand and momentarily pin it to her back, and now she knew what was going on.

She fell face forward onto Davy’s back and climbed over him after the bed.

The blow landed again on her left calf, causing a sudden tiredness to spread throughout her leg.

She pulled herself toward the bed again just as another blow landed somewhere around the small of her back taking her breath away for a moment.

It landed again just above her left shoulder blade causing her whole left arm to go numb.

She scrambled under the bed and looked back just as the blade of a kitchen knife stabbed the floor.

"Oh, God," she screamed.

Is that what had happened to her?

A pair of black boots stepped up to the side of the bed and paused a moment, and then turned and left the room.

She lay in place for an indeterminate amount of time with the broken nerves in her back screaming.

And she stared fearfully at the trail of blood she’d left on the orange shag carpet from where she was attacked all of the way to the bed.

All she could see of Davy from this angle was the cuff of his jeans and the heel of his right foot.

He was not moving.

She turned her head slightly and froze as if any movement at all might trigger another attack, but the trailer remained still.

Beyond the wooden doorframe, she saw the very corner of the kitchen table, and the plastic black tray holding the remains of her dinner -- Stouffer's Veal Parmigana -- still sat on the table.

She remembered the phone on the end table just behind the couch.

Her heart pounded. New wet warmth seeped through the back of her shirt.

A cold draft moaned through the trailer, and in the den, the hinges of the front door creaked lazily.

She pushed herself around with her only working leg, aiming herself at the doorway, and new pain shot through her like a bolt of lightning.

She choked back her terror stretched her right arm forward, and horror struck her when she saw her hand. It was caked in thick scabs, and a deep puncture starting toward the middle of her palm had torn straight through to the back of her hand.

She clinched her eyelids and grabbed a fistful of the orange shag carpet -- the broken nerves in her hand shrieked. She ground her teeth and started to move her right leg under her.

But the pain was so great, she yelped as soon as the muscle tightened. The sensation was something like a very bad muscle spasm.

She felt herself growing fainter by the second.

She gnashed her teeth and pulled herself forward with her right arm.

As her perforated skin dragged against the floor, she felt sheets of it rip like rotten fabric. Bitter tears stung her eyes.

She reached forward again and dragged herself further.

When she reached the door, she laid her head flat down on the floor. A profound sleepiness came over her.

She looked left into the living room. The front door stood open, and beyond that there was nothing but night shadows.

She looked at the end table where the phone sat. It was just a few feet away now.

A strangeness hit her. Her head felt as though it was filled with helium, and all the shapes and shadows around her suddenly looked ridiculous like the images in a cubist painting. Her pain was almost nonexistent now -- nothing more than an intense ebbing, like the sensations of making love.

She sighed and pulled herself further forward, and with every Newton of strength she had left, she reached up after the phone.

And even as she did so, she found herself wondering what she'd been thinking before. And why did it seem so goddamned important that she get to that phone?

She relaxed her arm, and it dropped to the floor like dead flesh. -- She was too tired to be exerting herself like this. Why had she wanted to put herself through that?

She rolled over on her back and stared up at the phone through the glass bottom of the table.

Maybe she should just take a short nap before she made that phone call. -- She couldn't talk to anyone feeling like this.

Terra Green took in a deep breath and released it slowly. Her eyes slid shut.

And her trials were over.

-6-

Henry had not killed the man in the trailer.

And he waited now in the shadows just outside to watch the performance he’d engineered unfold.

Right on cue, the Bastard came flying out like a frightened deer, and now he was pacing and talking to himself and rubbing his
face, with the blood of the woman all over him.

Davy was trapped, and he knew it.

Henry was only a few feet away from him. If Davy were to look directly at the tree where he was hiding, he might see him. But he wasn't going to do that; he knew he wouldn't. He was too wrapped up in his own apprehension and horror to pay any attention to a small thing like him.

Henry found himself wondering what he'd do if Davy were to see him. Would he try to attack him?

He smiled at his own cleverness and sighed so quietly that a dog couldn't have heard him. -- Davy’s life in the free world was over, and all Henry had to do was wait.

-7-

Something was wrong.

She didn’t know what.

Mandy just had a powerful feeling all of the sudden that there was something important that she was overlooking.

She opened her eyes and sat up.

White light streamed in through the two gaunt windows to the right of the bed in her loft causing the soft yellow walls to glow softly as if bathed in sunlight.

She looked at the alarm clock on the end table beside the bed, and the bold red display announced that it was eleven thirteen.

What a bizarre situation this was.

She was in an emotional state, but she didn’t recall having gone to bed the night before. The last thing she recalled was having walked into Paul’s office to retrieve his messages after having been raped by the police, and finding out. . . .

She frowned, and stood up.

She wasn’t even appropriately dressed.

Every night before she went to bed, she always took off her clothes, threw them in her hamper, and put on her night shirt -- an oversized black and red tee shirt that read Bridgeton Central Devils.

But this morning she was only wearing a black bra and a pair of plain blue panties -- panties that she wore only during her period.

Her hair was still damp as if she’d only taken a shower an hour or so before without blow drying it, and her fingers and toes were pruned up as well.

And she remembered none of it.

That’s when she heard the knock at the door downstairs.

She shot across the loft, opened her dresser drawer, and grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt out of the top drawer, and then she pulled them on and trotted down the stairs.

She arrived just as the visitor knocked the second time, and when she opened the door, her heart sank.

Detective Tom Davis stood on the landing outside wearing a white polo shirt with Wood County Sheriff’s Office stenciled over the left breast pocket, and his badge was neatly displayed on his belt. Another man stood beside him who she’d not seen before -- a much younger man with sandy hair wearing dark sunglasses.

Neither man looked to be in a good mood.

"Miss Green," Davis said. "You mind steppin’ outside for a minute?"

"I don’t have anything to say to you."

Davis huffed. "Don’t make any difference to me. I’d just as soon take you downtown."

"Who’s your pet?" she said looking at the other man.

"This’s Detective Kessler. You gonna come out or what?"

Mandy frowned, stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Neither man bothered to respect her personal space by stepping back.

"What do you want?"

"What did you do after the patrol car dropped you off here last night?"

She grimaced. "I checked Dr. Ambrose’s messages, and then I took a shower."

"Another shower this morning?" he said.

She glared at him.

"Excuse me for feeling dirty after having been raped by the police."

The expression on Detective Davis’ face darkened.

"Listen here, young lady. You’re in a helluva lot of trouble with me, and I’m about to jerk a knot in your tail."

The other man touched Davis’ shoulder, and he stopped talking.

"I’m sorry about that, ma’am," the other detective said. "He’s had a rough morning."

"What do you people want from me?" she snapped.

Kessler nodded.

"Did you go anywhere after you came back here last night?"

Mandy sneered at Detective Davis. "Of course not! If you’ll recall, my mother stole my car and sold it. I have to rely on Dr. Ambrose for transportation."

Kessler nodded again. "Did you call anyone, or did anyone happen to drop by?"

"No, I wanted to be alone."

"Did Dr. Ambrose happen back by?"

She rolled her eyes.

"He’s hours away from here answering bogus charges that my mother made," she said eyeing Detective Davis again.

"Do you have a boyfriend right now?"

She didn’t know what to think. She looked squarely at Detective Kessler.

"Why?"

He looked away. "It’s just a routine question."

"Routine? What in the hell’s going on?"

She looked at Detective Davis.

"Is that bitch trying to pull something on me again?"

Detective Davis took another step further into her space. "That’s your mother you’re talking about, young lady! You. . . ."

Detective Kessler pressed the back of his left hand over Davis’s chest as if to hold him back.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

She looked at Kessler. "Not really. There’s this guy I’ve been dating."

"What’s his name?"

"Mike Shaw."

Kessler nodded and recorded her answer on the pad in his hand.

"What is this?" she repeated.

Davis leaned toward her. "The bitch, as you called her, was stabbed nine times last night and bled to death trying to drag herself to a phone."

Mandy’s mouth fell open, and all at once she felt as though she were viewing the world through a long tunnel. She heard all of the sound and fury on the other end. She saw Davis’s face contorting in wild expressions, but the words no longer made sense.

She had the impression that they had more questions for her, but just now, she couldn’t quite understand them, and the tunnel between them seemed to grow longer and longer.

And somewhere deep in her consciousness she saw the ghostly image of a man hovering over her -- his black beard and hair undulating as if suspended in water.

"We’ve come to protect you," he said.

(Continue to scenes 8&9)