Brighter Than the Sun
Page 7
There’s a knock on the door and he bolts forward to turn off the lamp in my room. The knock sounds again, harder this time.
A woman calls out. “I know you’re in there.” She coughs and pounds on the door some more. “Earl! I know you’re in there!”
He recognizes the voice and lets out a long, frustrated sigh. After walking to the front door, he says through it, “What do you want, Kelly?”
“I have something for you.”
“Leave it at the door.” Then he mutters, “Crazy bitch.”
“I heard that. And I can’t just leave it at the door. Open up.” There is a long silence; then she adds, “I’m dying, Earl. Open the door.”
He opens the door at last, and I can see from my bedroom a redheaded woman. A woman I recognize from somewhere. She has a redheaded girl in one hand and a suitcase in the other. It’s blue.
“What is this?” he asks.
She coughs a full two minutes before she can answer. When she does, her voice is gravelly, like she smokes too much. “I’m dying. I don’t have long, and I need you to take Kim.”
He looks down at the girl, but she is looking at me. Or she seems to be. But my room is dark. Can she even see me? Her eyes are like saucers. She is sick, too. Or maybe she just doesn’t get enough to eat. Either way, she is skinny and her long hair is full of tangles.
“Why would I take your bastard kid?”
The woman pushes the girl toward him. “Because she’s yours. She’s your daughter.”
He snaps to attention. “Bullshit.”
“She is. Check the birth certificate.” She holds out an envelope.
“That don’t mean jack, and you know it. You could’ve put the king of England’s name on that thing, and you put mine?”
I don’t mention to Earl that there’s not a king of England right now.
“Yes. Because she’s yours. I got pregnant right before you got the boy.”
He turns back to me, and I slam my eyes shut.
“I just need you to take her for a few days. Just until I can hunt down my aunt Donna. You remember her.”
He nods. “Don’t mean I can take her.”
“Please, Earl. I have nowhere else to turn.” When he doesn’t budge, she says, “I can pay.”
That gets his attention.
She pushes the envelope toward him again. “I got two thousand in there. It’s yours if you’ll just keep her safe until I can find Aunt Donna.”
He hesitates. Looks the ragamuffin up and down. Then agrees with a low rumble in his chest. “You got one week, then she’s out on the street.”
She nods, her face suddenly bright like all her prayers were just answered, and I wonder if she even knows the man she’s talking to. If she realizes she’s just delivered her daughter into the arms of the devil.
9
Her name is Kim. Kim Millar. She’s shy and hides behind anything she can find, which suits Earl just fine. I can’t wait for her to leave, because then I can ditch this Popsicle stand. The minute I get a chance, I’m outta here. Earl hasn’t messed with me at all the whole time she’s been here, though. He’s mad. It’s been two weeks, and Kim’s mother still hasn’t shown up. He keeps threatening to take her downtown and dump her off at the nearest shelter.
He’s gone to look for Kim’s mother when I take the skinny shell of a girl a bowl of ramen noodles. She’s hiding behind the couch again. It’s her favorite place to hide, so I have to hunch over and hand her the noodles through the tiny space between it and the wall.
She doesn’t take them. She never takes them.
“You have to eat,” I say to her.
“I’ll eat when my mom gets back.” It’s the first thing she’s said to me in two weeks.
Surprised, I sit beside the couch. “That could be days.” I know she eats. Just not in front of me or Earl. She waits until we go to bed; then she scrounges for food and hides it away with her behind the couch. I can see a crunched box of crackers from where I sit and an empty can of deviled ham.
She scoots farther back into the tunnel, so I start to eat her noodles. I slurp them up, making lots of noise, until she caves.
“Maybe I’ll have a little.”
I pass her the bowl. She inches closer.
“How old are you?” I ask.
She takes a mouthful of noodles and mumbles softly, “Four and a half.”
“I’m seven and three-quarters.”
“I don’t like Earl.”
I laugh. “I don’t like Earl either.”
“Is he your dad?”
“Hell no.”
She nods unfazed, clearly used to bad words. Earl told me her mom is a prostitute and they were probably living on the streets.
“Do you have a house?” I ask, very interested, as I am going to be living on the streets soon myself.
She shakes her head.
“Where do you sleep?”
Now she ducks her head and slurps up another spoonful of noodles.
“Is your mom really dying?”
She nods.
“Do you—?”
“Why do you have seizures?” she asks just before she lifts the bowl and drinks the juice, making slurping sounds that rival my own. Little droplets slide down her chin.
“Who says I have seizures?”
She swallows hard and lowers the bowl. “Earl. You were having one today and he got mad.”
I cross my arms over my chest. He didn’t need to tell her that. I had to see Dutch. She was … upset. I could feel it. When I go to her, she is at a park with her stepmom. She tells her a little girl that the whole town is looking for is making castles in the sandbox. The little girl’s mom runs and stumbles and calls out to her daughter. Denise is mortified. She can’t see ghosts like we can. She doesn’t believe her, and right there in front of everybody and God, she slaps Dutch right on the face.
Anger consumes me almost as bad as when Dutch was taken into that apartment. Everyone was yelling at her. Accusing her of being a horrible person, but Dutch was right: The little girl was right there, waving at her mom. Stupid-ass people.
Unfortunately, sometimes I can’t control my emotions, and I decide the stepmom has to go. I pull out my sword, but Dutch is terrified. She shakes her head, her expression pleading. So I put my sword back and go off into the trees to sulk as everyone still yells at her.
Her dad shows up, and instead of getting mad at Denise, he wraps his arm around her and helps her to his car like she’s crippled. I could’ve crippled her. Missed my chance.
Then he goes to check on Dutch. Lowers his head as if ashamed when he asks if she knows where the body is. She nods and tries to tell him through hiccups as she sobs.
By the time I left, there was a whole regiment of cops taping off the area and going over maps to coordinate a search.
I look over at Kim, and I don’t know why, but I tell her the truth. About Dutch, that is. About my dreams. About how I know who is going to hell. I don’t tell her absolutely everything. I don’t tell her that her mom is already dead. It wasn’t the disease that killed her though, though. She was killed by a man last week and then buried on the West Mesa. I’d seen him one day when Earl let me out to go to the store by myself. That’s why I recognized her mother. Kelly was his first offense. The one that got him sentenced to hell.
A woman calls out. “I know you’re in there.” She coughs and pounds on the door some more. “Earl! I know you’re in there!”
He recognizes the voice and lets out a long, frustrated sigh. After walking to the front door, he says through it, “What do you want, Kelly?”
“I have something for you.”
“Leave it at the door.” Then he mutters, “Crazy bitch.”
“I heard that. And I can’t just leave it at the door. Open up.” There is a long silence; then she adds, “I’m dying, Earl. Open the door.”
He opens the door at last, and I can see from my bedroom a redheaded woman. A woman I recognize from somewhere. She has a redheaded girl in one hand and a suitcase in the other. It’s blue.
“What is this?” he asks.
She coughs a full two minutes before she can answer. When she does, her voice is gravelly, like she smokes too much. “I’m dying. I don’t have long, and I need you to take Kim.”
He looks down at the girl, but she is looking at me. Or she seems to be. But my room is dark. Can she even see me? Her eyes are like saucers. She is sick, too. Or maybe she just doesn’t get enough to eat. Either way, she is skinny and her long hair is full of tangles.
“Why would I take your bastard kid?”
The woman pushes the girl toward him. “Because she’s yours. She’s your daughter.”
He snaps to attention. “Bullshit.”
“She is. Check the birth certificate.” She holds out an envelope.
“That don’t mean jack, and you know it. You could’ve put the king of England’s name on that thing, and you put mine?”
I don’t mention to Earl that there’s not a king of England right now.
“Yes. Because she’s yours. I got pregnant right before you got the boy.”
He turns back to me, and I slam my eyes shut.
“I just need you to take her for a few days. Just until I can hunt down my aunt Donna. You remember her.”
He nods. “Don’t mean I can take her.”
“Please, Earl. I have nowhere else to turn.” When he doesn’t budge, she says, “I can pay.”
That gets his attention.
She pushes the envelope toward him again. “I got two thousand in there. It’s yours if you’ll just keep her safe until I can find Aunt Donna.”
He hesitates. Looks the ragamuffin up and down. Then agrees with a low rumble in his chest. “You got one week, then she’s out on the street.”
She nods, her face suddenly bright like all her prayers were just answered, and I wonder if she even knows the man she’s talking to. If she realizes she’s just delivered her daughter into the arms of the devil.
9
Her name is Kim. Kim Millar. She’s shy and hides behind anything she can find, which suits Earl just fine. I can’t wait for her to leave, because then I can ditch this Popsicle stand. The minute I get a chance, I’m outta here. Earl hasn’t messed with me at all the whole time she’s been here, though. He’s mad. It’s been two weeks, and Kim’s mother still hasn’t shown up. He keeps threatening to take her downtown and dump her off at the nearest shelter.
He’s gone to look for Kim’s mother when I take the skinny shell of a girl a bowl of ramen noodles. She’s hiding behind the couch again. It’s her favorite place to hide, so I have to hunch over and hand her the noodles through the tiny space between it and the wall.
She doesn’t take them. She never takes them.
“You have to eat,” I say to her.
“I’ll eat when my mom gets back.” It’s the first thing she’s said to me in two weeks.
Surprised, I sit beside the couch. “That could be days.” I know she eats. Just not in front of me or Earl. She waits until we go to bed; then she scrounges for food and hides it away with her behind the couch. I can see a crunched box of crackers from where I sit and an empty can of deviled ham.
She scoots farther back into the tunnel, so I start to eat her noodles. I slurp them up, making lots of noise, until she caves.
“Maybe I’ll have a little.”
I pass her the bowl. She inches closer.
“How old are you?” I ask.
She takes a mouthful of noodles and mumbles softly, “Four and a half.”
“I’m seven and three-quarters.”
“I don’t like Earl.”
I laugh. “I don’t like Earl either.”
“Is he your dad?”
“Hell no.”
She nods unfazed, clearly used to bad words. Earl told me her mom is a prostitute and they were probably living on the streets.
“Do you have a house?” I ask, very interested, as I am going to be living on the streets soon myself.
She shakes her head.
“Where do you sleep?”
Now she ducks her head and slurps up another spoonful of noodles.
“Is your mom really dying?”
She nods.
“Do you—?”
“Why do you have seizures?” she asks just before she lifts the bowl and drinks the juice, making slurping sounds that rival my own. Little droplets slide down her chin.
“Who says I have seizures?”
She swallows hard and lowers the bowl. “Earl. You were having one today and he got mad.”
I cross my arms over my chest. He didn’t need to tell her that. I had to see Dutch. She was … upset. I could feel it. When I go to her, she is at a park with her stepmom. She tells her a little girl that the whole town is looking for is making castles in the sandbox. The little girl’s mom runs and stumbles and calls out to her daughter. Denise is mortified. She can’t see ghosts like we can. She doesn’t believe her, and right there in front of everybody and God, she slaps Dutch right on the face.
Anger consumes me almost as bad as when Dutch was taken into that apartment. Everyone was yelling at her. Accusing her of being a horrible person, but Dutch was right: The little girl was right there, waving at her mom. Stupid-ass people.
Unfortunately, sometimes I can’t control my emotions, and I decide the stepmom has to go. I pull out my sword, but Dutch is terrified. She shakes her head, her expression pleading. So I put my sword back and go off into the trees to sulk as everyone still yells at her.
Her dad shows up, and instead of getting mad at Denise, he wraps his arm around her and helps her to his car like she’s crippled. I could’ve crippled her. Missed my chance.
Then he goes to check on Dutch. Lowers his head as if ashamed when he asks if she knows where the body is. She nods and tries to tell him through hiccups as she sobs.
By the time I left, there was a whole regiment of cops taping off the area and going over maps to coordinate a search.
I look over at Kim, and I don’t know why, but I tell her the truth. About Dutch, that is. About my dreams. About how I know who is going to hell. I don’t tell her absolutely everything. I don’t tell her that her mom is already dead. It wasn’t the disease that killed her though, though. She was killed by a man last week and then buried on the West Mesa. I’d seen him one day when Earl let me out to go to the store by myself. That’s why I recognized her mother. Kelly was his first offense. The one that got him sentenced to hell.
