Chapter Fourteen

Mae stared at the destruction strewn around her. Everything from her trunk was flung around the room. Her grandmother’s quilt had been torn and tossed haphazardly on the floor, her nightgown ripped to shreds, the lace and linen sheets covered with muddy footprints, and piles of coins and dollar bills sprinkled throughout. A sob caught in her throat at the catastrophic debris scattered around her.

Clyde loomed over her, one hand squeezing her elbow, the other holding sheaths of paper crumpled in his fist that he waved in her face.

“Your daddy got a lot to say, I see,” he sneered.

“What you mean?” Mae sniffed, blinking rapidly and wiping at her eyes with her free hand. She ignored how the grip on her elbow made her sore hand thrum with pain.

Clyde’s features slid into the sly, calculating look that had become his norm.

“You wants to act like you don’t know about her?” He smashed the pages into her face, grinding the rough paper into her skin and trying to force her lips apart. “I needs to make your lying ass eat it!”

Mae yanked her elbow free, staggering away and spitting the pieces of paper that had been jammed past her lips onto the floor, her mind racing and her heart galloping as it pounded against her rib cage.

“Why?” he howled, the sound of a wounded animal in a trap. “Why you lie?”

Mae stared at him helplessly, trying to follow his thoughts.

“She had him in here—then poof. He gone. She the only one what could do it.” He paced, kicking through the detritus of her life. “Him, that little scrawny bastard. That’s who you cheating on me with?”

“She who? Clyde, I ain’t doing nothing with nobody. I done told you, I just sells Jimmie some bread, and he ain’t been back. He don’t even lives here no more.” Her words fell over one another in their haste to be out.

“LIAR!” he screamed, lifting her by both arms and then dropping her back to the floor. “You been letting that witch Cora uses you, and you knows it.”

Mae’s body slammed against the door with the force of his slap across her face, her head thumping against the door and bouncing back. She slid down the wall, her legs spread out in front of her, and her dress pulled up to expose her thighs. Before she could draw breath, Clyde grabbed her by the front of her dress, lifting her into the air again before him and shaking her. Her head flopped back and forth on her thin neck.

“Clyde, please . . . Ain’t nobody been here. Mens don’t mean nothing to me . . . just you,” Mae sobbed, trying to control her head and limbs. “And I ain’t never even hear nothing about no Cora until I got them letters from my daddy.” Looking through her blurred vision, she tried to capture his eyes.

Finding them, she searched, then recoiled from what she saw. Darkness swam in the depths, reaching out to her, and she knew. This was the man the woman Cora had written her about.

“Oh God,” she moaned, then opened her mouth wide and screamed.

His meaty fist found her face again, and her front teeth shattered. “Don’t you blaspheme, witch.”

Blood, saliva, and mucus ran down her chin, and she coughed to keep from choking on the blood running backward down her throat. Words no longer formed through the haze of pain as he dropped her to the floor.

Climbing to her hands and knees—her throat raw from screaming, praying that someone would hear her, help her—she began slowly crawling toward the door. Clyde’s booted foot connected with her stomach, lifting her half a foot into the air before she landed on her side, one arm thrown over her face to protect it and her other clutching her stomach as life seeped from her womb to stain the inside of her thighs. Falling onto her back, she spewed vomit from her mouth. Mae tried to turn her head away from the stinking pool.

Clyde leaned over, his breath bellowing in and out, and his hands circled her neck as he lifted her and dragged her back across the room to the bed, screaming words into her face as he slammed her onto the bed.

“You ain’t never loved me! You just used me like they all do. My mama done told me. I should have listened. I should have listened. You full of sin!”

She felt his hands tightening on her neck, pressing harder as she struggled for air, her legs kicking at him. It was too late. She should have run. Her eyes distended in their sockets, locked on his, and she saw the pure hatred in his face. His lips twisted in a snarl. She tried to lift her arm to reach up and stroke his face one last time to bring him back to himself. But it was a dead weight, dangling ineffectively beside her as her vision dimmed . . . and the light of life fled.

Clyde allowed her limp body to drop back on the bed, staring down at her sightless eyes and feeling her judgment.

Don’t let the witch fool you like Cora did. Make sure she dead.

Clyde nodded and moved to the small sink and counter across the room. He searched through the few utensils until he found the knife Mae used to cut up chickens. He strode back, climbing onto the bed, and straddled her body. His arm flew up and down repeatedly, slamming the blade through tissue and bone. Tears and snot flowed into his open mouth, splashing in the blood on her chest as he sobbed.

Ruby slowly lowered her hands from her ears where she had placed them as Mae’s screams escalated higher and higher. She had heard his fists pounding flesh, heard Mae’s muffled cries between her screams, sounds that the radio could not drown out.

The desperation in Mae’s screams vibrated through her body, different this time, unlike the ones on other nights. These urged Ruby to move, to help. Then, the screams stopped, cut off like the click of a radio knob. The sudden silence that descended horrified her worse than the screams.

Ruby heard the bed springs creaking again. Later, the sound of something being dragged across the floor penetrated the walls. She heard footsteps shuffle across the room several times before she heard the door open and a heavy tread that could only be Clyde going toward the communal bathroom. The footsteps returned to the room, and the door opened and closed several times before silence enveloped the whole floor again.

Rising, Ruby walked to the closet and began peeling the clothes from her body, carefully placing them on their padded hangers. Standing at the basin, she used a washcloth to wipe her face, rinse her arms, and wash between her legs before slipping her peignoir over her head. Lying down, she felt the weight of loneliness crushing her into the mattress. She stared first at the ceiling, then at the room’s only window, and waited for night to abandon the sky.

Clyde inhaled deeply, took one final look, and then firmly pulled the door shut to his and Mae’s room. Using Mae’s key to lock it behind him, he reached for his connection to Fannie and smiled. As he had awakened, the first rays of the day’s light warm on his face, he felt her presence. She was near, and the uneasiness that saturated the space around him lifted. The darkness tingled in eager anticipation of seeing her, having her make it all right again. He felt Mae’s memory attempting to force its way into his mind, pushing doubt through the darkness. He stopped, tilting his head to the side. Had he heard Mae call his name? He looked back at the closed door, listened carefully, then sighed when no further sounds followed him and continued walking to the incinerator.

Clutching Cora’s journal tightly in his gloved hand, Clyde felt the darkness simmering, no longer turbulent as it had been the day before but welcoming. He grabbed the metal handle and pulled the door downward, gazing at the orange flames dancing inside. The image of the fire reflected in the inky spheres of his eyes as they narrowed, and the darkness fed the anger brewing within him. Anger for the years he had carried his own pain and damnation with him, hatred for every word on every page that chronicled the turmoil and devastation of his life. Not once had Cora ever considered helping or saving him, only coveting his destruction. He tossed the journal inside and watched, mesmerized, as the inferno licked the leather cover, the pages blackening and curling.

Turning away, he began shuffling the long, painful walk to the rear of the building. Black tendrils leaked from beneath the door of his apartment, with still more gathering at Ruby’s door, shifting and swirling toward him as he made his way to his job for his last day. They could fire him if they wanted to. He was done with this place. He would shake the dust from his heels.

Mama here, and I’m coming for you soon, witch, it whispered across his conscious mind. Clyde began to whistle. Everything was going to be all right. Fannie was almost here. This time, there would be no mistakes.

Ruby planted herself on the back porch, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep. Morning had arrived, clouds coming to make the sky a leaden gray, obscuring the sun from her world. Earlier, she’d sat on the side of the bed, paralyzed, shrouded by a loathing so deep, she thought never to move again. Mae’s cries echoed in her head, shredding any peace she sought.

“He a good man.” Mae’s words and her own formed a bitter ash in her thoughts. Both lies. The only time Amos was a good man was in her memories, and if Clyde was ever a good man, it wasn’t during the time that Ruby had known him. She needed to help Mae. She had to get Clyde to tell her what was going on, and this time, she would not be dissuaded like yesterday. Then, she’d stood in front of Mae’s door, knocking timidly, then beating against it, demanding Mae to appear. She imagined her opening the door just wide enough to show her face, her eyes downcast and shadowed with shame.

But it didn’t happen. She’d swallowed the temptation to use her master key to barge into the apartment and check on Mae, but she hesitated, remembering how embarrassed she was when Clyde started beating her. Ruby had instead gone back to her own rooms and continued to cower inside her apartment for the remainder of the day. She recalled her own bruises, the ones she had hidden from her own family and friends; the false tales about the “accidents” she seemed to have all too frequently, the number of missed opportunities she’d had to talk to Mae.

She sat now, watching the last tinge of orange sunlight dimming the horizon before the skies became the color of her soul, determined that Clyde would not get past her. She’d seated herself in one of the chairs where she and Mae had sat so many days, laughing and gossiping in the sunlight. She saw Mae’s face, those deep dimples imprinting themselves on her cheeks, her eyes bright with warmth and humor. She felt the tears pooling in her eyes as she waited for Clyde to return from work.

Hearing the heavy tread of footsteps, she looked down the stairs to see Clyde, that lopsided walk propelling him toward her. For a brief moment, his face pulled downward in sadness, and she felt a twinge of sorrow for him. Then she remembered him pulling Mae away from her, not allowing her to say goodbye. She saw herself, her body curled up on the bed, trying to drown out the sound of Mae’s cries.

Drawing in a deep breath, she gathered her courage and stood, pulling herself up to her full height, which left him still a head taller. Undaunted, she cleared her throat and began talking as he stepped up onto the porch, the words pouring forth before her courage faltered.

“I see Mae ain’t been out since the other day, Clyde.” She would not let him intimidate her today. “And we was planning on looking in on that baby boy Jeremiah together.” She continued, then paused, waiting for his response. “She ain’t sick or nothing, is she?” she asked, her voice heavy with concern, her expression cautiously blank.

“Her done left me.” Clyde looked down at her, his eyes red-rimmed and sorrowful. “She done went back to her peoples, I expect.”

Ruby’s eyes drooped at his words. Mae was really and truly gone. Her body sagged in disappointment, remembering the sound of something heavy sliding across the floor, probably Mae’s trunk.

Ruby searched his face as he licked his lips, his tongue leaving a trail of saliva behind, his dark eyes darting nervously from side to side. She’d seen that look before. Seen it when Amos crept back into their bedroom, filled with false bravado, daring her to question him about where he’d been, his lies held behind his teeth. She would see his eyes flash in disgust as they roamed over her body. His hands would be next, she knew, open palms heavy on her skin, followed by fists pounding against frail bone.

Clyde stared at Ruby, his nose wrinkled against the smell of her. The air in the hallway reeked with the stink of her Jezebel spirit. She the reason Mae dead. She Cora’s puppet pulling the strings and poisoning her against you, the darkness whispered. He wished they had never come here, had never met her. He swallowed his hatred of Ruby and schooled his features to look contrite once more, wishing he’d taken his suitcase with him when he’d left that morning.

As Ruby stood there remembering, she felt a dark rage growing inside her as she continued to study Clyde’s bowed head. Her hand slipped inside her apron, the pocket slightly lopsided with the weight of what she carried, fingering and stroking it. She allowed the fury to swell in her veins. Looking up, she watched his features slide and distort until her husband Amos’s face grinned at her, darkness swirling around him. Her mind screamed a warning. Violence would not take her today, not ever again.

“LIAR! YOU DON’T CARE!” she shouted into his face. Fabric rustled as her hand dove deeper, her fingers tightening around the solid handle of the stiletto blade nestled there where she had hidden it, prepared to defend herself.

Ruby’s scream paralyzed him where he stood. Sound fueled by rage and anguish that echoed in her body, recalling every blow Mae took, every fist against innocent flesh. Confusion clouded Clyde’s expression for an instant as his eyes jerked from the wicked point of the blade in her hand to the hatred on her face. A flicker of fear danced in his eyes before the darkness gathered and swirled, rising up in protection against the crazed woman before him.

Ruby plunged the razor-sharp metal tip into Clyde’s chest, sinking it all the way to the hilt, throwing her entire weight behind the blow. “You’ll never hurt me again!” she sobbed into Clyde’s face, seeing only Amos.

Clyde staggered and fell back against the rail, the slender blade protruding from his chest, his horrified eyes stretched wide in terror, then collapsed into the chair Ruby had abandoned. The pain bloomed and throbbed, spreading through his chest, strangling his heart. He had never been hurt like this before, never felt pain like this. He felt the darkness that had always shielded him failing.

Clyde watched Ruby from beneath lowered lids, her chest heaving as she backed away from him. He grunted in agony and attempted to stand, one hand wrapped around the handle of the dagger, blind instinct warning him not to remove it. His other hand waved helplessly in the air.

Ruby staggered, her heart tripping rapidly, walking backward until she felt the screen door at her back as Clyde’s face became his own again. Fear blazed in her soul as he tried again to gain his feet, his one hand reaching toward her, grasping at empty air. Fumbling for the door handle, she wrenched it sideways, slamming the door open. Ruby fled down the hallway, not daring to look back to see if Clyde followed.

Clyde lurched upright as he tried again to raise himself from the chair, sucking in great gasps of air. Soft whimpers leaked from his mouth as his free hand fell to his side, Ruby now out of reach.

His hand began a frantic search in his pants pocket until his fingers curled around a scrap of silk from Mae’s gown. He yanked it free, sending a stabbing pain to his chest with the movement that elicited another moan of agony. Holding it tightly in his fist, he raised it to his nose, suddenly desperate for the remembered comfort of a time when Mae had held him close. A time before Cora and Ruby, a time when she had forced the darkness to retreat from him. Pain pulsated with each beat of his heart from the wound in his chest.

Moving the piece of silk to his nose, he inhaled deeply. For just a moment, it smelled like she used to, and his eyes fluttered with the sweet memory. Then he recoiled as it changed, and he hurled the offending rag to the floor. His nose wrinkled at the repugnant smell that wafted up from where it lay at his feet. It stank, a miasma rising upward with the scent of Cora’s corruption.

Suddenly, the darkness surged through his muscles, engorging them with strength and power. He thrilled. It had not left him alone to die. Instead, it enabled him to rise and remain on his feet, swaying unsteadily toward the stairs. The darkness urged him to get to the train. He needed Fannie.

“Damn Cora!” He almost wept, his eyes narrowed. The darkness knew she was behind it all. He pushed himself forward, the darkness dragging him. He looked back at the screen door, his mind conflicted between images of Ruby’s throat in his hands and getting to Fannie.

No, Mama was first. He would get to her, and she would make the pain go away. She would fix it. Then, together, they would come back and deal with Ruby, and finally, they would get to Cora and give her the death she was so eager to deliver to him.