The Devil's Beating His Wife (26 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

February 16, 2012, Laurens County

Baxter and I stood at the window watching the new owners survey the land. They all looked the same. Khaki pants. Short sleeve shirts. Big round sunglasses.

They had arrived earlier that morning and began marking the land with bright yellow paint. Their focus was on the land, pointing out the boundaries and landmarks. Thus far, they hadn't entered the house.

For too many years, the old shack had stood. People came and went, mostly leaving things behind when they fled. It wasn't anything special, but it was my final resting place. Knowing that it would soon be gone caused a great fear inside of me.

Questions about where we would go frequently churned in my mind. Would we remain? Would we finally be released?

"They're planning to turn this place into a housing development." Baxter's nose was nearly pressed to the glass. He was listening to the men's conversation outside. He seemed less worried about our fate than I was. I wasn't sure if he was aware of some secret that I had yet to figure out.

"What's that? A neighborhood?" I asked him.

Baxter shook his head. "That man," he said, pointing to a man with a black shirt and black pants, "said it was going to be a retirement community." Baxter turned his face away from the glass. "This place is about to be overrun with old folks."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You mean people our age?"

He raised his eyebrows and flashed a grin. "I doubt any of them will look as good as us."

"Well, they do have an advantage over us," I retorted.

"What's that?"

I pushed my hands into the pockets of my dress. "They're still alive."

Baxter barked with laughter. "Yeah, but not for much longer."

There we stood at the window. Baxter's head was thrown back as he crowed with amusement. My face was nearly pressed against the glass as I chuckled.

After the laughter died down, I rested my head on Baxter's shoulder. He placed a light kiss on the top of my head, and I closed my eyes from its sweetness. At that moment, I stood with the man who had killed me, and that thought no longer twisted me with rage. This man had been the death of me, but now he was the only thing giving me a reason to exist. We stood and watched silently as the men outside prepared to demolish our home.

"You think we should scare them away?" I asked.

Baxter shook his head. "I reckon that'd give them a better reason to tear this place down faster."

"What will happen to us?" As bad as being stuck in this place was, it was better than the nothingness that possibly awaited us.

"I don't think anything will happen. We're tied to this land as much as we're tied to this house. Sorry, Spicey, but I think we're stuck here." He spoke with such confidence that I nearly believed him.

As we watched columns of men advance towards the house, one particularly short, swarthy man separated himself from the group, walked onto the porch, and entered the house. A red and white handkerchief covered his mouth and nose. He walked to the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room and slid his gloved hand down its foundation. He pressed an ear close to the wall and began knocking on it. When he came across a hollow section, he lifted a crow bar and stabbed at the plaster, creating a large hole in the wall.

He worked methodically, creating a unique rhythm that ricocheted throughout the house. Thump. Rip. Shuffle. Thump. Rip. Shuffle. Within minutes, he had managed to rip away most of the remaining living room wall.

The man had just moved to the bathroom to begin his rhythmic demolition there when another man entered the house. This man was a lanky black man whose head bobbed as he stomped across the floor to stand next to the wall. He grabbed the damaged plaster and began to rip it away, creating a larger hole. His fingers pulled away insulation until he finally exposed the copper pipes behind. He then leaned in and began to dismantle the plumbing.

While he worked, he sung loudly and off-key. He didn't seem to care if the other man was annoyed by his caterwauling. Then again, the other man's thump, rip, and shuffle added to the overwhelming atmosphere.

Baxter and I stood in the center of the room watching the men work. Baxter raised his hands to his ears and shouted, "It's so loud, I can barely hear myself think."

Just as Baxter's booming words died away, the black man hunched his shoulders and turned around to stare into the room. His dark brown eyes scanned the room, looking right through me and Baxter. He lifted his gloved hands and ripped two wires from his ear. I could hear music blaring from the small bud-shaped ends. "Did you say something, Manuel?"

The thump, rip, and shuffle stopped. "What did I tell you, D.J.?" Manuel yelled back. "You've destroyed your hearing with all that noise. Now you're imagining things."

D.J. rolled his eyes, grabbed the budded wires, and plugged them back into his ears. He had just stuck his hand into another hole in the wall when Manuel entered the living room.

"D.J.?" Manuel called. When D.J. didn't turn around, Manuel placed his hand on D.J.'s shoulder, causing the other man to leap.

Manuel laughed as D.J. grasped at his heart.

"Yo, dude," D.J. said, "don't go sneaking up on me like that. I was about to haul off and punch you in the forehead."

Manuel pushed his forefinger into the center of D.J.'s head and shoved the taller man. "You're not going to do shit, young blood."

D.J. smacked at Manuel's hand. Manuel laughed while D.J. scowled. Then D.J. ripped the wires from his ears again and said, "Do you think what they say about this place is true?"

Baxter glanced over his shoulder at me. "Why do people keep asking that?"

Manuel grabbed a piece of the frayed curtain and pulled it from its hooks. "What do you think?"

"I think it is," D.J. said. "Just looking at this place, you can sense something evil lurking here. My grandma told me not to come out here. She said that too many people died, and if I disturbed their peace then my black ass would be next. Imma pray that she's wrong," D.J. added, grinning.

Manuel grabbed one of the small end tables, walked to the front door, and tossed it into the yard. When he returned to the room to grab another item, he finally spoke. "My abuela told me that if you talk about them, you give them power." He lifted a finger towards his mouth and nodded towards the large, ugly mirror. "Help me with this."

"I'm not done with the wall," D.J. responded.

Manuel placed his hands on his hips, stared back at D.J., and said, "Well, if we clear out the furniture, then more of the wall will be exposed. Common sense, man."

Baxter snorted. "Yeah. Common sense."

Manuel took the edges of the frame and tried to lift the mirror from its hooks. It didn't budge. D.J. walked over and grabbed a section of the mirror. The two of them pushed the mirror upward and yanked it away from the wall. They stumbled from its weight.

"Goddamn but this piece of shit is ugly as fuck," D.J. said as he stared down at the mirror. They placed it on the ground with the reflective surface towards the ceiling.

Manuel grabbed his crowbar and lifted it over his head. Baxter stepped towards Manuel with his arms raised as if to stop him. Then Manuel brought the crowbar down onto the glass. The mirror shattered under the impact.

I braced myself, expecting to feel a powerful wind tear through the house. Nothing happened. Manuel continued to strike until there were only small shards left. I cringed with each blow.

"You know that's bad luck, right?" D.J. murmured.

Baxter stood over the broken mirror. He nudged the frame with his foot and then he looked at me. He seemed horrified and surprised.

Manuel gave his friend the finger. Then he lifted the broken mirror and carried it out of the house.

Over the next few minutes, it was like time had stalled. I had thought the mirror carried a greater force. I was disappointed there hadn't been some kind of reaction to its annihilation. Through a blurry haze, teams of men entered the house and cleared each room of furniture.

When the house was completely empty and all of the copper pipes removed from the walls, the man dressed in black walked into the living room and pressed a handkerchief to his mouth. He began to sneeze into the cloth, causing its edge to wave with each blow. "This place is a dump," he said.

"You know? I think I'm beginning to grow offended with that particular comment," Baxter said, crossing his arms. He glared at the man, and his eyes followed the new guy as he walked throughout the living room. Baxter cringed at each of the man's snot-filled sneezes.

Manuel and D.J. stood against the wall. Their eyes followed the older man as he walked around the room, making a final assessment. Manuel nudged D.J.'s arm and cocked his head towards the man. D.J. shook his head and pressed his lips tightly together.

Manuel curled the corner of his lip. He elbowed D.J.'s stomach, and then he looked at the other man and said, "Hey, boss. Is it true what they say about this place? That there were a whole bunch of murders?"

The boss stopped before the two younger men. A wicked gleam entered his eyes. "What's wrong, boys? Afraid of a few ghosts?"

Manuel waved his hand in the air and shook his head. D.J., in contrast, nodded. The two of them exchanged bewildered looks.

"Yeah, it's true," said the boss. He leaned towards D.J. and lowered his voice. "That's why I got a good deal on this place. No one wanted it. The original owner, Humphrey Colsen, was a bootlegger back during Prohibition. He ran this whole part of the state, and he didn't take kindly to any competition. Rumor has it that some of his lieutenants decided they wanted to spread the wealth, so they planned on taking ol' Colsen out. They figured since he was old and unassuming, it would be easy." The boss man shook his head. "They underestimated the wrath of that man. Ol' Colsen killed them, their wives, and any crew associated with the plot. The feds tracked him back to his farm and they cornered him. The standoff lasted for days, until ol' Colsen got it into his head that he was going to commit suicide by cop. He was gunned down back in the barn."

"Shit," said Manuel.

The boss laughed, warming to his storytelling. "But that's only the beginning. About fifteen years later, this World War II vet bought this place, thinking he was going to create some kind of love nest with his brown sugar." He stopped to laugh at D.J.'s glare. "Anyway, she didn't want any part of that. So he ended up killing her, then himself." He pointed towards the living room wall. "It happened right in here. A murder-suicide. Can you imagine? Then there was that Vincent fella. He was the father of the woman that I bought this place from. He disappeared one night and was never heard from again." The man's eyes widened just before he sneezed again.

He sniffled into his handkerchief and separated himself from the worried laborers. He ran his fingers over exposed wiring and he began to pull it from the wall. One of the wires broke off in his hand, and he cursed even more. "This piece of shit has to go."

He wiped his dirty hands on his pants, and then he motioned for Manuel and D.J. to follow him. They left the house and walked out to the center of the yard. Baxter and I looked out the window and saw the men placing hard yellow hats on their heads. The older man waved in the air and a big bulldozer rolled into place.

I grabbed Baxter's hand and squeezed tightly. I hadn't expected our end to be so abrupt. I figured we had a few more days, but it seemed these men meant business.

Baxter turned to me and lifted my face in his hands. His face lowered to mine and he stared deeply into my eyes. The corners of his mouth quirked before he brushed his lips across mine. The softness of the kiss was earthmoving.

No, it wasn't. It was actually the rumbling of the bulldozer as its engine turned on. Baxter shifted his head and pressed his lips more firmly across mine. I remember kisses leaving me warm and tingly. But this kiss caused a rush of cold wind to swirl around our bodies. I felt the room begin to spin as we deepened our kiss. Through the haze of the whirlwind, the large bulldozer tore through the walls of our home. As the machine ran through our ghostly bodies, Baxter placed his hand at the small of my back and pressed me further into him. The all-consuming kiss distracted me as the walls began to crumble around us and the floors were ripped away.

I was under the impression that the kiss had lasted a very short time. Were the pearly gates ahead of us? Or maybe large kettles of fire simmered around us? Slowly, I opened my eyes.

When I noticed our surroundings, I gasped loudly, causing Baxter's eyes to snap open. There were no gates. There were no fires.

We were standing on a patch of dark brown earth. There was no foundation left. The house had been completely torn down and the rubble cleared away.

I fell back a few steps before I collapsed to my knees. I bent down and placed a kiss on the exposed dirt. "Thank you, God. Thank you."

"Why are you thanking him? I don't think he gives a rat's ass about us," Baxter said. He had pushed his hands into his pockets and squinted towards the workers encircling us.

I grabbed handfuls of dirt and let the pebbles fall from my fingers. "I thought we were goners." I pushed up from the ground and got to my feet. Lifting my hands into the air, I turned around slowly. "We're still here!"

Baxter sighed loudly. "And I told you that nothing was going to happen. When are you going to start listening to me?"

I turned to face him and brushed off my dress. "I would think you would already know the answer to that."

Baxter pivoted away from me and walked to the edge of the exposed earth. He slowly lifted a leg and gently placed it on the green grass. He lifted his other leg and stepped further into the yard. Step after step, he walked further and further away from me. When he reached a group of men, he whipped around and gave me a huge grin. Then with a flip of his hand, he swiped at the coffee mug one man was bringing to his mouth.