Chapter Thirteen

Clyde stood—waiting—behind the whorehouse just outside the shed, hidden by the edge of the building between the wall and the wooded area stretching out behind it. He mollified himself with the knowledge that he was not at the whorehouse and was not disobeying his mother, not wanting to add disobedience to his broken promises. The sun had shifted in the sky, and he guessed less than an hour had passed since Baby Doll died. He smiled, still tasting her death on his tongue, wishing he could have prolonged it more.

He recollected silently pushing the door open and listening to the sound of Baby Doll’s laborious breathing, which he had become accustomed to on his frequent visits to check on her. He would listen through the gaps left by the uneven placement of the panes, allowing sound to travel clearly to the crates where he stood outside the window.

Inhaling the sweet scent of her death as she died, he’d watched the darkness overtake her bit by bit, a layer hovering above her. It swirled around her now, covering her entire body—sliding up her nostrils, into her ears, her open mouth, and even working its way into her eye sockets. It would have been better if she had struggled and fought him. Instead, she was too weak, her death quick.

That little skinny girl who worked for Baby Doll had run screaming from the shack, letting him know that Baby Doll was, in fact, dead. His ears rang with the sound of her screaming for Jesus, praying loudly, “Please, Lord, helps my Miss Baby Doll; don’t let her be dead.” As if God would hear prayers from her mouth for that nasty whore.

Clyde shook his head, freeing himself from the pull of his memories, knowing that his time was short, assuming the little ninny had gone for help. She would be back, bringing the sheriff, the undertaker, and anybody else who would listen. He still had work to do. Her judgment was not yet complete.

Opening the door wide, he whistled loudly, a sharp sound that brought a pack of dogs running swiftly from the woods, their bodies held low to the ground. They were starved, ribs sharp over their caved-in stomachs, their jaws open and slobbering, desperate for food. He’d kept them out in the deep woods with him, feeding them nothing but the darkness in preparation for this day.

They shot past him, howling and snarling, biting at each other in their rush to get to the corpse while Clyde stood in the doorway and embraced the sight. Closing the door behind him, he whispered, “And dogs will devour Jezebel’s flesh.”

His mouth stretched in a wide grin, and he worked hard to keep himself from whistling as he waited, hidden. Inside the shack, low growls and occasional thrashing split the still air. The urge to peek inside the window and witness the sight surged through him, so intense that he was forced to push his hands down into his pockets to hold himself in place. The sound of several people moving toward the shack, followed by a young girl’s frightened voice, arrested his desire. He pressed his face and body against the back wall of the shack, once more invisible, his mother’s Bible teachings and the darkness swirling in his head.

“No, sir, I ain’t going back in there no more. I come to get you, but I cain’t see her like that again.”

From where Clyde stood, he could see the girl trembling, her body trying to shake itself apart. She wrapped her arms to her elbows and hugged herself, her head whipping vigorously from left to right as she looked at the sheriff.

“I done told you. I went to get some more ice for the fever, and when I come back, she be dead already. Eyes open wide, staring up. I cain’t look at her like that again.”

Sheriff Jesse drew in a long breath, looking over his shoulder at Elder Mason, pulling up his holster, and placing his hand on his gun before striding to the door of the shack. Mason was close on his heels. Deep guttural growling rose and fell on the other side of the door, followed by pained whimpering.

“You all got dogs in there?”

Gal shook her head violently again. “Nah, sir, wasn’t nobody here but Miss Baby Doll, and she ain’t never like no dogs. She had that cat, Princess, but somebody done killed it a few weeks back.” The girl clutched her dress tighter around herself, using it to hold her vibrating body together. “I swear I ain’t do nothing wrong. Did I?” Her fear rose, choking off any additional words until only frightened squeaks came from her compressed lips.

Tightening his hand on the gun butt, Jesse crossed the patch of dirt between the back of the Doll House and the shack. Reaching the door, he applied his shoulder to it, the force sending sharp pain radiating down his arm and through his back. The door slammed inward, ricocheting off the wall and allowing a small stream of sunlight to enter. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness within and illuminate the sights on and around the bed. Jesse’s eyes rounded in horror as the writhing shadows congealed into shapes.

The four dogs raised their heads in unison, blood and gore dripping from their muzzles, the sound of cracking bone coming from their jaws. Their bodies tensed, lowering themselves close to the ground, preparing to defend their prey.

The first dog sprang toward Jesse, causing his arms to fly up defensively before the dog’s powerful jaws clamped down on his left forearm. Using his right arm, he yanked his gun from his holster, firing directly into the dog’s eye, the vibration from the gunshot traveling up his arm. The dog fell to the ground, its back legs scrambling in the dirt as its body convulsed. Jesse stumbled back and dropped to one knee. Gulping in great gasps of air, he used his forearm to take direct aim at the remaining three animals, striking heads and hearts. The dogs growled, twitched, whimpered, and then lay still in pools of blood.

Jesse stood shakily, his legs threatening to collapse as he walked backward until he had backed up to the open door, his back pressed against the door frame. He dropped his hand to his side, noticing the trembling as he attempted to holster his revolver. Once it was secured, he mopped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, feeling the blood dripping from his wound. His breath whistled loudly. Mason and Gal stood in the doorway just to his left, blocking the sun’s light, their breaths trapped within their bodies, holding back their screams.

Behind the shack, Clyde stepped deeper into the shadows as he listened through the thin pine boards that separated them, peeking out intermittently. The silence that had followed the gunshots was now broken by a guttural scream of terror issuing from within, followed by the sound of retching as Elder Mason staggered away from the open door to lean against the wall, heaving violently until nothing but the sound of dry gagging remained.

Elder took a large white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead and then his mouth. He finally saw Jesse stomp out. The sheriff pushed his hat backward until it sat near the back of his head, dangerously close to falling. His hand pinched the bridge of his nose, holding it for a long minute before he spoke.

“Them dogs is all dead. I got them all. You coming in?” His eyebrow arched skeptically, taking in the pallor of Elder’s skin and the sheen of sweat on his face.

“You gon’ need to give me a minute, Jesse. I ain’t never seen nothing like that in all my days.” Elder shuddered, and his Adam’s apple moved convulsively up and down as he struggled to keep the bile down.

“Me neither, Mason.” Jesse exhaled, shaking his head. “And four of them. Just going at her. I don’t know if you gon’ have much to work with.” He looked at his ragged shirt and the puncture marks left from the dog’s teeth. He would probably need a shot, and he hoped the dog hadn’t been rabid. “It’s a good thing they was weak.”

Elder Mason shrugged his shoulders. “From what little I seen, it wasn’t much of her to begin with. I heard tell she been real sick, but I ain’t have no idea it was bad as this.”

“But how them dogs get in there? Gal, did you leave the door open?”

The girl jumped. “No, sir. She cain’t stand no air on her. I keeps the door closed no matter how hot it be in there or how it stink.”

Seeing the girl shrink back into herself, Jesse adjusted his voice. “What is your name anyway?”

“Miss Baby Doll ain’t never called me nothing but Gal, and my mammy didn’t give me no name. I been in the whorehouse since I was born.”

Both men stared at her emaciated form, noting the rags that draped her body, the ashy skin stretched over bones that hadn’t matured yet, all elbows and knees. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I guess I ain’t got nowhere to go now that Miss Baby Doll dead.”

They shifted uncomfortably in the face of her misery. Elder Mason moved forward and rested one hand on the girl’s shoulder, patting it awkwardly. “You wait here, Gal. When we finished in there, me and Sheriff Jesse find something for you to do. Somewhere you can go.”

The sheriff nodded and walked past them back into the shack where the dogs still lay in a heap where they had fallen. Huge chunks of flesh had been torn from Baby Doll’s thighs and her side, leaving gaping raw wounds that spilled more carnage onto the floor. Her wide eyes stared up toward the room’s window, and he wondered what she had seen as she died. Had she seen death coming? Were the dogs already in the room, stalking toward her as she lay defenseless on her bed? And who had closed the door, locking them in?

He waited just inside the doorway, taking shallow breaths of the foul air as he waited for Elder to join him and pronounce the obvious, that Baby Doll was, in fact, dead.

Outside, Clyde slowly ambled away, waiting until he was far enough to allow his whistling to begin and go unheard. The darkness swirled around his feet as he walked. He sped up, heading for home.

Mama said he had packing to do. They would be leaving this miserable town behind, taking the Greyhound to Jackson, Mississippi, for a while and then returning to Delhi. Nobody knew them in Delhi. Mama’s uncle Simeon on her father’s side said they could stay with him.

A flicker of guilt flitted across his heart. He had surrendered to the darkness, letting it have its way. Part of him reached toward it while a sliver clung to Mama. He felt the need to be her special boy, anointed to do a great work, but the dark was powerful in him. It slithered around his spirit, satisfied with the corpse that lay inert inside. He felt himself stretched between her and the darkness.

Could killing be God’s work? Was this his anointing? He pushed the contrary thoughts away. He would confess to Mama, and she would purify him. Then they would begin again, away from this miserable town. She would help him to control the darkness. It would be better when Mama fixed it.