Authors: James Henderson,Larry Rains
“People thought Uncle Henry didn’t know people were fucking with him. He knew. You better believe he knew. You see, Uncle Henry had a rule…Of course, he couldn’t tell anybody his rule ‘cause he couldn’t talk.
“It was simple: Don’t touch me! You could laugh and tease him all you like, just don’t touch him. Everyone in Dawson must have understood that ‘cause nobody laid a hand on him. Somebody’s cousin, brother, nephew or some shit from outta town came down and misread the rules of ridicule. He saw everybody poking fun at Uncle Henry and thought he could do the same.
“He’d been paying attention, he’d noticed nobody touched Uncle Henry. They fucked with him--they didn’t
touch
him! He hit Uncle Henry in the back with a stick, no reason except he thought he could get away with it. Big mistake! An ‘Oh, I’ve fucked up bad!’ mistake. Uncle Henry grabbed him and choked him to death. That wasn’t enough. Uncle Henry gouged his eyes out. Nobody tried to stop him--they all took off running.
“That still wasn’t enough. Uncle Henry took the stick, the very same stick, and you know where he stuck that stick? Yes, he sure did. In a place where a stick doesn’t easily fit. When the sheriff finally arrived, Uncle Henry was standing over a fire, gasoline can in hand, laughing…just a laughing.”
Tasha tried to move her legs. The right swayed side-to-side a little and that was it.
What did she give me?
Perry exited the highway and turned south on Geyer Springs Road.
“I think Uncle Henry was in his early thirties when that happened. Are you listening to me?” She pinched Tasha’s chin and turned her head toward her. “Do you hear me?” She pinched harder and nodded her head.
“Yes, you hear me,” releasing her. “Guess the age of Uncle Henry’s vic.”
They entered the Woodbridge Apartment complex and Perry parked in front of Tasha’s apartment.
“Thirty? No. Twenty? Not hardly. Fifteen? Uh-uh. Det-tect-ive Montgomery, he was eight years old. You hear me, eight-mother-fucking-years-old! The exact same age as your boy…Derrick!”
Tasha suddenly felt hot, started sweating. She opened her mouth: “If you hurt my son, I’ll kill you!” The words
garbled, incoherent.
“What you say? ‘You feel me?’ I know damn well you do! Now here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to go and open the door, and then I’m coming back to get you. You’re going to put forth a better effort than what you did back there at the restaurant. Where’s your keys and your cell phone?”
Tasha didn’t respond.
Perry patted Tasha’s front pockets. “Where are they?” She pushed her toward the dash and patted her back pocket. “Here they are?” She pocketed the cell phone and jingled the keys in Tasha’s face. “Which one is it?”
Tasha again tried to speak, her tongue twisting the words.
“I don’t understand pig Latin,” Perry said. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll find it myself.” She got out and went to the door.
Tasha dozed off.
“Let’s go, fatso!” Perry said, opening the door.
Tasha tried to move her legs again…nothing. Perry snatched her by the arm and pulled her up and out.
“I’m not carrying your fat ass! Help me!” Perry said, kicking the car door closed.
Tasha, head lolling, leaned on Perry and tried the best she could to walk the short distance to the door.
Once inside, Perry let her drop onto the floor. “I might as well have carried your big ass!” breathing loud. “You probably gave me a damn hernia!”
Tasha was sure she’d broken her wrist; it lay folded underneath her stomach; the pain shooting up her arm--and still she fought to remain conscious.
And then she felt hands around her ankles…She was being dragged…in her own apartment…
Perry pulled her into the bedroom, between the bed and the wall.
“Damn!” Perry said, sitting on the bed. “You ever heard of Tae Bo, Jenny Craig, Kathy Smith? Or try backing away from the damn table. Makes no sense nobody being that damn heavy!”
Perry got up, walked away, and then Tasha heard her inside the bathroom. A few moments later, inside her bedroom closet.
What’s she looking for?
Perry stepped into view holding a belt, a towel and a
roll of duct tape.
Tasha closed her eyes, anticipating an assault, and then felt a knee on her back.
Perry wrapped the towel around her wrists and then secured the belt tightly around it. “Is that too tight? Huh? You better let me know now before I go. Is it too tight?” Tasha didn’t respond. “Don’t blame me if you loose circulation and they have to cut your arms off.”
Perry jerked her head back and made three turns around her mouth with the duct tape.
Tasha watched the black tennis shoes go to the doorway and stop.
“I’ll be right back,” Perry said. “Stay in your room. Keep quiet. And you can’t have any company. ” She walked out laughing, and closed the door.
Faintly, Tasha heard the front door open and close.
Lord, please don’t let her hurt my son!
She had to get to the phone, the one in the living room. She tried to bring her right knee up, hoping to push off it and stand up…Her leg wiggled, shook…and stopped.
Sleep beckoned her. If she could just get near the phone, she could pull it down. Stretching her neck as far as she could, she inched forward, chin first, then shoulders, a small lurch with her buttocks, and then a slight push off her toes…again…and again…Utterly exhausted she stopped and checked her progress.
Oh God!
She was no closer to the end of the bed than when she started. She tried again, this time pushing more with her toes and buttocks. With each push she grunted through her nose, causing it to bleed. She stopped again, rested a bit. Then tried again. The edge of the bed was getting closer, yet at this rate she’d arrive in the living room sometime next year.
After what seemed like hours of pushing and chinning across the carpet, Tasha could see around the bed…There was the dresser, the trunk, the bedroom door…
The
bedroom door!
…
Closed!
…How could she open it? What little energy she had left dried up. Sleep tempted her. Her body begged her to relent. She succumbed, allowing her muscles to relax, eyes closed.
Then, from far away, she heard a voice, a child’s voice, low and faint, then getting louder, coming closer and closer…
“Momma!…Momma!…Momma!”
Tasha’s eyes opened wide. With every fiber of her being, she starting inching toward the door. If need be she would eat her way through it.
Chapter 26
Eight-thirty when Perry parked the Cadillac in the garage. Upstairs she found Neal lying on the bed beside Derrick.
“I don’t like the way he’s sleeping,” Neal said.
“He’s all right.”
Neal shook his head. “I took off his clothes and he didn’t stir a bit. I never heard him snore before. It’s like he’s drugged or something. I think I should take him to the hospital.”
“When?”
“Now.”
Perry crossed to the bed and placed the back of her hand on Derrick’s forehead. “No temperature.” Held his wrist. “Pulse normal. He’s fine.”
“I think he needs to go to the hospital.”
“I said he was fine!”
“You don’t have to go, I’ll take him.”
Perry gritted her teeth. “Look here…” She almost said asshole. “Neal, the boy is fine. We’ve got things to do! If we waltz into the hospital with this boy, talking about something wrong with him, check him out, what you think they’ll do when they find out there’s nothing wrong with him?
“I’ll tell you what they will do. They’ll make you and me piss in a cup, wearing a paper gown, with some jerk looking over our shoulder. I’ll pass, but you…you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”
Neal chewed on his thumb. “I guess you’re right.”
“Neal, it’s almost nine o’ clock. We agreed to help Tasha, remember? Why don’t you go get ready to leave.”
“What about Derrick?”
“What about him?”
“Shouldn’t we take him with us?”
“Uh-uh. He’s asleep. Ain’t it obvious? The boy is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. His mother has blown a fuse, he’s in a new environment, his daddy has a new wife. Sleep is his body’s way of dealing with all that. We move him now…it would be child abuse.”
Neal chewed on his thumb more heartily, the nail already down to the quick. “I guess you’re right about that, too.” He stepped to her. “Hey, let’s finish what we started in the pool.”
Perry pushed him back. “We don’t have time for that. When we get back…Why don’t you go do what you need to do before we leave.”
“There’s nothing I got to do.”