The Devil's Beating His Wife (29 page)

Baxter leaned onto his tippy toes to stare over at us. His blond eyebrows rose as he surveyed Colsen. The old man wiggled his fingers at Baxter and giggled like a sweet innocent child. When Baxter looked away in disgust, Colsen crooked a finger at me. At first, I pretended to not understand his meaning, but when his lips puckered, I did as he motioned.

He lowered his voice and said, "My dear Spicey. I'm Death, you know." He winked at me and faded away. My back slammed against the couch as I pondered his words. Maybe I was better off even in Carver's presence. At least I knew what type of mischief he could get into.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

June 7, 2014, Laurens County

It was a few minutes past midnight and the retirement home was strangely quiet. With most residents in bed for the night, only a skeleton staff was on hand to address any emergencies. The two nurses were at their station, watching a movie. The security guard and office worker were once again not at their stations.

"Are they at it again?" I asked Baxter.

He and I were sitting out on the patio, enjoying the sounds of the water fountain. He sat on the fountain's edge and let his hand hover over the water. I was stretched out in one of the lawn chairs.

"When are they not at it?" Baxter asked, tossing a small pebble into the water. He glanced my way. "Those two can't keep their hands off of each other."

"Young love." I smiled at my own youthful memories.

He snorted. "You mean young lust." He arched an eyebrow and grinned. "The security guard is married to a cook who works the daytime shift."

I tossed my legs over the side of the chair. When I caught him leering at my exposed thighs, I pushed my dress down. He frowned and looked away. I laughed at his disappointment.

"How do you know that, anyway?" I asked.

Baxter refocused his attention on the fountain. He lowered his body so his fingers could swish through the water. "I overheard the second shift staff talking about it. Apparently, the man's wife wanted to switch to third shift so they could work together. He convinced her to stay on first shift, as they have a small child at home. That was just his excuse to keep sleeping with this other gal."

"The mess people make with their lives. I can't—" My words were cut off by the sound of a loud crash from inside.

Baxter leapt to his feet. "What in the hell was that?"

"I bet it was Colsen." I didn't bother to move.

Baxter narrowed his eyes at the main building. "Maybe."

Just as his body began to relax, the sound of another crash and several curses filled the air. "Don't you dare put your fucking hands on me!"

Baxter's mouth turned down as he recognized the voice. "Carver," he muttered under his breath. He rocked back on his heels and inhaled deeply. "That man is going to be the death of me."

"You're already dead," I reminded him.

Baxter rushed forward, brushing past me as he entered the home. "Must you always be a spoilsport?"

"Well, I wouldn't want you to get any strange ideas about your true circumstances, Baxter Bennett." I left my chair and followed closely behind him. I needed to see what Baxter was going to do. Over the last few days, Baxter had again taken on the role of the responsible older brother. I didn't understand why.

We walked briskly down the hall. Several residents had left their rooms when they heard Carver's loud voice. Some of them seemed confused about what was happening. Others were clearly annoyed to have their sleep disturbed.

"Would someone shut that fool up? He gets on my very last nerve. He outta be taken out back and have a bullet put into his goddamned hard head," Mr. Huckabee said as he rolled his wheelchair into the hall. "Get the hell out of my way, you nosy bastards. Go back to your rooms." Even as he ordered the others to leave the scene, he kept rolling towards the source of the commotion.

The security guard was nowhere to be found. The office worker, who should have been calling for the security guard, was nowhere to be found. One of the nurses, Derrica, had come out of the nurses' station. She walked down the hallway, urging the residents to return to their rooms. "Don't worry, Mrs. Ogden, everything is quite alright. Mr. Stuart, you can return to your room now. I'll take care of this."

Baxter walked through the gossiping residents and stopped outside his brother's room. He stood in the doorway and watched as his brother roared and stomped around his room. "Don't do anything stupid, Carver."

Carver not do anything stupid? C'mon now. Baxter had spent most of his life with this fool. He should have known by now that Carver was all kinds of stupid.

Derrica rushed into the room, and I walked beside her as she approached Carver's bed. "Mr. Bennett? May I help you with something?" Her voice was patient and kind. Her eyes were impatient and angry.

Carver was wearing a pair of plaid pajamas. His back was towards the window, and he was clutching his pillow in his arms. "Get out of my room!"

Derrica lifted her hands in a pleading motion. She stepped slowly in Carver's direction. "I promise to do that, Mr. Bennett, once you settle down and stop scaring the other residents. Now, I'm going to ask again. Is there something I can help you with?"

Carver dropped his hands. His pillow fell to the floor at his feet. He stared back at the nurse with outrage in his eyes. "There ain't a damn thing you could do for me except eat shit and die, you fucking coon."

The nurse showed visible calm. She folded her hands before her and looked sweetly at Carver. "Is that so, Mr. Bennett?"

He must have realized his mistake because he glanced around the room, searching for an ally. When his eyes caught on Mr. Huckabee lurking outside of his door, he called to the man. "Since they got themselves a black president, they think they rule the world. The whole natural order is off, and now this one here is getting all uppity."

Baxter swung around in my direction. "The president is black?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know that? They show him on the television all the time. His name is Barack Obama," I informed him.

The corner of Baxter's mouth curled. "Barack Obama? That doesn't sound very American."

"I think his father was from Africa. Kenya, I think. Truth be told, I like it better than Rutherford."

Mr. Huckabee wheeled himself into the room and towards Carver. He adjusted his position so he was between Carver and the nurse. "Now, Derrica, don't do anything that can get you tossed out of here. You're one of the few bright spots in this place, and it wouldn't be the same without you." When the nurse relaxed, Mr. Huckabee swung his chair around so he could look up at Carver. "And you, you ugly foul-mouthed bigot, if you continue to give Derrica any problems, I'll call one of my ne'er-do-well grandsons to come bust up your kneecaps. They already got records, so they ain't got nothing to lose. Got it?"

Carver's eyes widened as he looked down at the other white man. He pointed down at Mr. Huckabee and looked up at Derrica. "Are you going to stand there and let him threaten me like that?"

Derrica stepped backwards and left the room. "Goodnight, Mr. Huckabee," she called out as she returned to the nurses' station.

Mr. Huckabee spun on his wheels and left the room. Carver watched him leave, and then he bent down and picked up his pillow. "They could have at least given me another pillow."

Pity shone in Baxter's eyes as he stared at Carver. "I can't believe this is my brother."

"What I can't believe is that your parents would raise two big ol' pussies like you and your brother," Colsen said from the shadows. He reached out and knocked a bunch of items off of Carver's dresser.

Carver's eyes widened as he stared at the fallen items. "Go back to Hell, you demon."

Ah. So I was right; it had been Colsen, after all. Ever since that night he had claimed to be Death, I had steered clear of him. I wasn't sure if he really was Death, or just a very crazed spirit who thought he was Death. "Colsen, can't you do us all a favor and leave this one alone?" I cocked my head towards the frightened Carver. It pained me to intervene on Carver's behalf, but I wasn't interested in finding out how much power Colsen really did possess.

Colsen walked to Carver's bed and yanked off the blankets. They floated in the air and slid over Colsen's tiny frame before falling to the floor. Carver clutched his pillow again.

Colsen cackled at Carver's reaction. "I can't help myself, girl. He makes it too easy."

I would have continued to press my point, but Baxter grabbed my arm and pulled me from the room. We entered the now empty hallway and made our way back towards the lobby area. Baxter took a seat at the couch. I walked over to the television and turned it on.

"You're hooked on that thing." I heard his words, but I didn't really care for their meaning. I guaranteed that if my eyes weren't glued to the television, I would have been stalking and terrorizing Carver nonstop. The television was the only thing keeping him safe from my vengeful thoughts.

I pressed the button until it flipped to a channel I liked. Then I turned the volume down so as not to disturb the residents. "I wish this had been around when we were alive. They got a channel for everything. Food. Real Estate. Politics. There's even a bunch of channels for kids." I continued to turn through the channels until I saw an interview with President Obama. "That's him, Baxter," I said, pointing at the television. "That's the president."

Baxter left the couch and came to stand beside me. His eyes widened as he looked at the screen. "Dear Jesus, he really is black. When did this happen?"

"I don't know. Years ago, I guess."

"What is the world coming to?" His voice was full of wonder.

I waited until the interview ended and then I continued to turn through the channels. I stopped when I found the one I was looking for. As I hoped and suspected, an adult film was playing. A man was holding a woman up against a wall. She was screaming her lungs out as he thrust into her. I laughed with glee.

Baxter reached out and turned the television off. "That is disgusting."

I gave him a side-eyed glare. "You're telling me you've never seen a dirty film?"

"No!"

I shook my head and poked his chest. "I don't believe you."

"It's true. Only perverts and criminals watch smut. I'm neither." He seemed genuinely outraged at the thought.

"You're a big fat liar, Baxter. You mean to tell me that all those months in Europe you didn't watch a dirty film?" I turned the television back on and took a seat in the nearest chair. "I bet you did. I also bet you used to look at those dirty magazines, too."

Baxter looked at the television and cringed. "You're wrong about that, Spicey. I would never watch something like this."

I crossed my legs and reclined into the seat. I watched the couple on the screen for a few minutes before finally commenting on Baxter's statement. "If you say so, Baxter." I patted the armrest. "Now shut up and take a seat."

Baxter ducked his head like a naughty schoolboy, and then he peeked up at the screen. "Do they really have a channel for this?"

"Yeah," I said. "They have a bunch of them, actually. Want me to show you the others?"

He raised his hand, motioning me to stay in my seat. "No. I believe you. I guess I'm more confused as to how you know about them."

I wiggled my eyebrows and refused to answer him. Baxter's mouth dropped open as he looked towards the ceiling. He muttered something under his breath and finally took a seat on the couch.

He propped his arm onto the armrest and dropped his chin onto his hand. "Can we watch something else, please?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"I'd like to see something else with that President Obama."

"You want me to turn from this dirty film to a program that has the president? You can do better, Baxter."

"How about one of those channels for children?" He shrunk under the look that I gave him. "Okay. How about cooking?"

I thought about it for a moment. That wasn't a bad idea. I grabbed the remote from the coffee table, and I began to flip through the channels.

"How do you know about all of this?" he asked.

"I watched and learned. Oh, goody. This is one of my favorites." I tossed the remote back onto the couch. "This guy goes around the country and accepts food challenges."

Baxter stretched his long legs out and crossed them at the ankle. His words were muffled as his eyes began to glaze over. "Like what kind of challenges?"

"He eats a whole lot of food," I answered.

"But what's the challenge?" Baxter asked.

"That he eats the food."

Baxter scoffed. "Really? That's the challenge?"

"In a nutshell. Now be quiet. They're about to start the clock."

We both sat in awe as the guy on the television began his challenge. In front of him had to be the largest cheeseburger ever, but that wasn't all. There were also French fries, onion rings, and a strawberry milkshake.

There was an hour on the clock. The waiter started the clock on the television, and the guy began to dig into the cheeseburger. For the next several minutes, Baxter sat mesmerized as the man stuffed his face with food.

"That's a fucking waste of food," Baxter shouted at the television.

"No, it isn't. He ate most of it," I countered.

Baxter grabbed a pillow from the couch and began to bite into it. "Do you know how many nights I prayed to find a rotten vegetable or two? Or how lucky I felt if my piece of meat only had three or four maggots on it? I can't believe this. All of those people cheering him on. They're all fat and lazy."

I reached for the remote and turned the volume up. Baxter huffed with outrage, but he closed his mouth. I turned the television to a crime channel.

"Welcome to
America's Most Evil Criminals
. Unassuming and mild mannered, this lethal killer led one of the country's most brutal crime syndicates. His name was Humphrey Colsen. Over the years, Colsen's legendary exploits have fallen into obscurity, but he ranks as number three on our list." Baxter and I shared an audible gasp when Colsen's little figure appeared on the television.