The Devil's Beating His Wife (30 page)

"Oh, my goodness. Colsen's famous," Baxter said.

I snorted. "I can't believe he's only number three."

We watched as the show went through Colsen's criminal past. His brief marriage to his high school sweetheart. Her connections to the Mob. His rise through the ranks as one of their most reliable hired guns. Then finally, his role as the biggest moonshiner in this part of the country.

"Colsen's end was swift and bloody," said the man on the screen.

"Derrica? Did you leave the television on?" It was one of the nurses. She had been a recent hire. They didn't seem to last long here at Colsen Manor.

Derrica stepped out of the nurses' station and looked across the lobby. "Why would I turn that TV on?"

The other nurse picked the remote up from beside me, swung towards the television, and turned it off. Baxter jumped from his seat and yelled at the nurse. "What the fuck?"

"Calm down. I forgot they have to do their rounds at quarter past. I'll turn it back on once she leaves the room." I sat smugly as Baxter ranted about having the television off. Within the space of a few hours, he had acquired his own little addiction.

"We're going to miss the rest of Colsen's story," he whined.

I grabbed his hand and pulled. He lost his balance and fell towards my seat. "I'll rewind. Relax."

We waited until the nurses returned to their area. Then I grabbed the remote, turned on the television, and rewound the show to where we'd left off. "Isn't this neat?"

I pressed play and the host resumed his recitation of Colsen's history. "Colsen's end was swift and bloody. After leaving a trail of dead bodies, most of whom had been his former associates, a bounty was placed on Colsen's head. Several law enforcement agencies, following the tips of people wanting to cash in on the reward, finally tracked the old man to his little farmhouse in the Georgia countryside. The lawmen thought they had an easy fight ahead of them. Instead, they were in for one of the roughest gun battles in history. It seems that Colsen had led them back to his stockpile of weapons. He had weeks of food and ammunition stored up. He managed to keep the cops on their toes for a good three weeks until he finally decided to end the stalemate. With guns blazing, Colsen stormed out of the barn and met his bloody fate."

"I can't believe I know this guy," I said in awe. I was aware the little old man was a known murderer, but it was still shocking to see his exploits on the screen.

"Derrica! The television is back on," the nurse said, storming back into the lobby. Baxter groaned as she grabbed the remote and turned it off. She walked over to the wall and pulled the cord from the electrical socket. "There's gotta be a glitch."

Wouldn't it be nice to go on a brief murder spree? I'd begin with Carver, I thought. Maybe do things to drive him slowly crazy before finally snuffing him out. Then, I'd hunt down that Charles Vincent, assuming he was still alive. I'd pry out those buck teeth of his and watch as he bled out.

"Some of the residents think this place is haunted," Derrica yelled from the nurses' station.

Well, they would be right. This place was haunted. It was haunted by the memories of missed opportunities.

CHAPTER TWENTY

June 10, 2014, Laurens County

"I would like to speak to my brother," Baxter said quietly.

"Then go speak to your brother," I said, not taking my eyes from the television.

He knew I hated being interrupted while watching my shows. If he truly knew what thoughts were running through my mind, I was sure he would let me watch television in peace. Idle hands were truly the Devil's workshop.

I was sitting on the edge of the couch, watching television with a group of residents. The four widows seemed to enjoy sitting around and gossiping about each other and everyone else.

There was Bernice, a seventy-two year old Jewish woman from New Jersey. She had married a Southern gentleman who had brought her back home to his Georgian family. She'd been content with her life in the South until her husband died. Soon after his death, she had started talking about her life back in Jersey, which had annoyed her Southern-raised children. They packed up her belongings and sent her off to Colsen Manor.

Bernice's suitemate was Diane, another white woman in her early seventies. She never gave her age, but she did disclose that she was a widow thrice over. Her first husband had died in a car accident. Her second husband had died after an asthma attack. Her last husband had died of a heart attack while having sex with his much younger mistress. Diane was the wealthiest one of the lot.

Minnie-Belle was the heart and soul of the group. She was the second youngest and liveliest. She was also the most ornery. She was a Black woman in her mid-sixties who bragged about her forty-nine year old sugar baby. She would flash his handsome, smiling picture at the girls and croon about her lover boy. He had only bothered to visit her once since she'd been there, but that was enough to get everyone's mouths wagging.

And finally, there was Lucille, the former mail-order bride from the Philippines. She had been her husband's second wife, and the two of them never had any children. However, when her husband died, his adult children from his first marriage inherited most of their father's wealth. They had given their step-mother an ultimatum: she could return to the Philippines or move into this retirement community. She chose the retirement community. At fifty-nine, she was the youngest and quietest resident at Colsen Manor.

At first, I would look at these women and feel envy and outrage. They were still young enough to enjoy life, but they were wasting it by camping on this couch and watching stupid TV shows. Then a few days back, I finally stopped my silent ranting and paid attention to one of the shows, and now I was just as hooked as they were. They weren't aware of it, but we all had become friends.

Baxter placed his hand on my shoulder and shook me hard. "Are you listening to me?"

I turned and shushed him. He walked around the couch and turned off the television. "You know everyone hates it when you do that."

"Denzel! Denzel! Can you come here please?" called Bernice.

The tall, Black male nurse, whose name wasn't Denzel, came rushing into the room. "What's wrong, Bernice?"

"That damn ghost is at it again," Minnie-Belle said. She pointed at the television. "Turn it back on."

Baxter took a step back as the nurse walked across the room and turned the television back on. He shot a wry look at the ladies. "You lot called me all the way in here to turn on a TV? You know you could do that yourself." He scooped up a couple of empty plates and left the room.

Bernice's eyes followed him as he walked away. "I just like seeing that man's tush."

"Damn it. We missed the good part. Rewind it so we can see what we missed," ordered Diane.

"You see what you've done? You've ruined it for everyone," I told Baxter.

He dropped his hand to hover over the off button. "Spicey...."

"But Baxter, it's the
Real Housewives
marathon. I'm trying to catch up on past seasons. Can't you just go talk to your brother?" I knew I was whining.

Baxter walked to my side and stared down at me. His blue eyes entreated me to cooperate. "I need you, Spicey."

It took me a moment to realize his meaning. He didn't simply want to go into his brother's room and talk at him. He actually wanted to have a conversation.

"Are you crazy?" I asked him.

He nodded his head. Then he shook it abruptly. "No. I just need to say something to him."

"It's been years since we've done that. What if we can't any longer?"

"I never thought of that," he said softly, and then his eyes brightened. "But there's really only one way to find out."

I pulled my eyes away from Baxter and settled them on the TV show. I must have gotten wrapped up in the show again because Baxter yelled my name. I let my head slam into the back of the couch. I would have reached for a pillow and tossed it at his head, but I knew that would upset the gals.

I looked at his face and saw his inner struggle. I didn't give a tinker's damn about Carver, but it did bother me to see Baxter so torn up over his brother. If talking to Carver gave him peace, then I was willing to do it. "Fine. But you will owe me big."

He grabbed my forearm and pulled me from the couch. We shuffled our way through the busy lobby and walked to one of the storage rooms. Baxter opened the door and pushed me inside. He peeked around the hallway, and then followed me inside. He walked towards the dark back corner and motioned for me to join him.

In the pitch black interior, Baxter raised his arms and wrapped them around me. For a moment, I just felt swallowed up by Baxter, but then the chill began to flow through my body. I could feel his thoughts and emotions course through me.

While we settled into his form, I knew that my thoughts now blended with his. I could feel his gratitude as well as terror. Baxter walked through the dark room and opened the door. He stuck his head out and looked both ways. Then he took a deep breath and opened the door wider.

We stepped out into the hallway and were immediately struck by another body. The man whipped around and uttered an apology. The number of people around was overwhelming. Many I recognized as residents. Others were visitors who had stopped by to see their loved ones.

As we walked down the hallway, I noticed several people glancing in our direction. I wasn't sure if people were just trying to figure out who we belonged to, or if some of them actually recalled Baxter from their youth. Regardless of their curiosity, no one stopped us as we made our way towards Carver's bedroom.

Outside of his door, Baxter's steps dragged to a halt. He placed his hand on the wall, lowered his head, and took a deep breath. "I can't do this."

Yes, you can.

I decided to take a bit of control. With the force of my will, I pushed us through the door. Baxter staggered inside and glanced around the room as if looking for the quickest exit. We could have run and Carver wouldn't have known any better. He was sound asleep on the bed.

God, it angers me to know that he still lives, I thought. There is no justice in that. Would you look at him sleeping so peacefully? Do you think he ever has nightmares about my brother? Or that night when they destroyed so many people's lives?

Baxter shook his head as he stared down at his brother's sleeping form. "I doubt they're nightmares. More like happy dreams."

Carver rested on top of the bed covers. His head was turned slightly towards the open window. His body was relaxed and unguarded as he slept.

Again, I took over. I pushed us forward to the bed. I forced Baxter's hand to rise and then fall across his brother's pale cheek. Carver jumped awake, breathing harshly and staring wildly around the room.

His gaze fell on Baxter, but then darted to other areas in the room. Then his eyes shot back to Baxter and widened with fear. "Oh my God. Have I died?"

Baxter licked his lips. I could sense the words were difficult to form. "No, little brother. You're not dead."

Carver closed his eyes and held them shut. He counted quietly. "Ten. Eleven. Twelve." He kept going until he reached thirty, and then he rubbed his palms across his old eyes. When he opened them, I could see the tears gathered in the corners. "This is a dream. A bad dream."

I lifted Baxter's hand again and brought it hard against Carver's head. Carver shrunk back and covered his head. I kept hitting him until he finally crawled off the bed and fell to the floor. "Leave me alone."

"Stop it," Baxter snarled under his breath.

After all that he's done, a few slaps on his head is the least I could do.

Baxter shrugged off my words and walked around the bed to where his brother huddled on the floor. He grabbed Carver's arms and hauled him to his feet. I could feel how thin Carver's arms seemed under our fingers.

"Get on the bed, Carver. We need to talk." Baxter pointed to the bed. Carver followed his finger and then glanced back into Baxter's face.

"I'm going to sit over there, in my rocking chair. You sit on the bed."

Baxter bit down on his lip as Carver scooted around us and ran to the rocking chair near the window. We sat down on the bed and faced Carver. I itched to run across the room and begin beating him again. I could feel Baxter restraining me.

"This can't be happening," Carver said as he took his seat. "I must have died."

"You're not dead." Baxter grabbed a water pitcher and poured water into a glass. He carried the glass across the room to his brother. "Here. Drink some water. It'll help calm your nerves."

Baxter held the glass out as Carver inspected its contents. Then he slowly reached out. Just before he could take the glass, I turned it over and poured it on his head. Baxter drew back his arm and threw the empty glass across the room. "Goddamn it, I said stop."

Carver fell back into the chair, sending it rocking. He looked terrified as he watched Baxter pace the room. "This isn't a dream."

"No, it isn't." Baxter ran his fingers through his hair. I could feel him thinking of things to say. "I need to apologize."

Those weren't the words I was hoping to hear. I kicked at Baxter, and he inhaled sharply.
Don't you say anything more.

Baxter stopped pacing and faced Carver. His brother continued to shrink in his seat. "I don't know how else to say this, but I've kept some secrets from you. Some of them were worse than others, and I'm sorry for them. All of them."

Carver gripped the handles of his rocking chair. "What are you're talking about?"

Baxter shoved his fists into his pockets and looked away from Carver. "I knew Mary-Alice long before you did. She used to volunteer at the USO functions. I met her there, and we danced a few times." Baxter looked back at his brother and watched for a reaction. "We made love a time or two. She wanted something more, but I just wanted a good time. When I didn't marry her, she set her sights on you. I just figured that she wanted to marry into our family, one way or another."