By the Light of His Lantern Page 37

  “Can you do it?” Lara asked.

  Catherine lowered the knife by her side. “Yes, I can do it. Be quiet.”

  “Just… don’t hurt yourself.”

  Swallowing another tickle in her throat, Catherine laughed bitterly. She readied herself again, hovered the knife over her arm. She was shaking so badly, years from now—if she even made it another day—people would see her arm and think she’d been in some kind of pumpkin carving accident. She prodded her flesh with the tip of the blade. The old scab was a reminder.

  “You sure you want to do it in the same spot?” Lara asked. She was running her hands over her legs nervously. “Maybe your palm this time.”

  Catherine sighed. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

  Nevertheless, Lara watched. Her eyes were glued to Catherine’s arm. She chewed her lip, waiting. Just looking at her, Catherine’s heart started to beat a little harder. Maybe the blood would come faster now. Just a small cut. She wouldn’t slice like last time. Just enough to dab her fingers into. Just enough to mix the powder.

  She stuck the blade into her arm. A nasty pinch. Blood seeped out, pooled around the blade, dark and watery. Rather than slice at all, she simply waited while the blood ran out from the initial puncture. She removed the knife and set it on the ground.

  Lara’s hands were covering her mouth. Her eyes were round and white.

  “That’ll do it,” Catherine said. “I think that’s plenty—”

  Her stomach gave a lurch, throat burning, and before she could comprehend what her body was doing she turned her head and vomited on the cold concrete. Lara gave a startled shout. The bile was black as ever. Catherine wiped her mouth on the shoulder of her shirt.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  Her hands trembled more than ever. The spicy stench of the vomit clouded over them. She dipped her pointer and middle fingertips in the blood still dribbling from her arm.

  “Show me the symbol,” she said. Lara held her phone to her mother’s face. Catherine reared her head back, squinting. “I can’t see it that close.” Lara pulled it away. “Make it larger, though.”

  The symbol was like a sideways J, with a series of dots trailing out from inside the hook. The straight end of the J was capped with a triangular pattern of dots. Catherine started with the triangle of dots. She placed a dot on the far side of his forehead, dipped her finger, another couple dots, dipped her finger, another couple dots to finish it. She dipped her fingers again, pressed them into the wound to really soak them in new blood, and drew the J. She went over it twice to make it even. Then, last but not least, she finished with the final dots beneath the J from its hook. It resembled the example well enough, though her placement on his forehead could have been centered more. Oh well. It wasn’t meant to be art, she decided.

  “You’re pale as a corpse,” Lara said.

  Her daughter couldn’t hide her terror. Seeing that terror was painful and even terrifying in itself for Catherine. She was sorry Lara saw it, and afraid to see it for herself.

  “We’re almost there.” Catherine felt as though she were swaying in place, sitting on the cold basement floor. It was difficult to look around. The room and everything in it appeared out of focus, bubbled, like looking through a fisheye lens. She set the knife on the ground—dropped it, more like. Her hand was tired of holding it, apparently. She wasn’t sure. She felt on the brink of falling asleep. “What do I say to him when he wakes up?”

  “Do we need to take a break?” Lara asked. “Does it matter if the blood dries? I think we should take a break.”

  “No. No break. I have to get this over with…” She shook her head, her brain bouncing in her skull. “We’re so close.”

  “Do you need me to do this? I can do this…”

  “I’ll do it.”

  It vaguely occurred to her that she wasn’t in the proper state to be cutting anyone open. But she wouldn’t need to cut him too badly. Just like she’d done to herself. Pierce him once, a superficial wound. Enough to bleed. Even if she were blackout drunk she could manage that, she thought.

  She picked the knife up, hunched over him. Get it over with, all right. That’s what she’d do. Over and done in a matter of seconds from now. Just as he was waking up, she would pass out. How would that be? Leave Lara to handle all her mess from there. Terrible. And what if he attacked them? He’d be weak, too, surely. Lara…

  It was unclear if she meant to do it or if her hazy, swaying body caused it by accident, but she leaned forward and stabbed the pocket knife deep into his bicep. Lara screamed.

  “It’s okay,” Catherine said. “It’s just… his arm.”

  That was also when she realized she’d forgotten to wash the knife, still dirty with her blood. She dropped it again—clattered to the floor. The blood was flowing freely down his arm in a narrow stream. Nothing major…

  Lara screamed again, or whimpered. Something. She was making sounds. Everything was so loud. Catherine lifted her head, felt like a boulder was tied to the top of it, and looked at Lara who was actually looking elsewhere, toward the stairs behind them. Catherine followed her gaze. She saw what the commotion was about then.

  A young man stood halfway down the stairs, watching them both, pointing something at them both. His expressive face, pulled tight and baring its teeth, was muted. Or everything was muted. Catherine couldn’t hear him one way or the other. She looked between him and Lara, who was frozen on her knees. The man reached the bottom of the stairs. He pointed his gun at Catherine, mouth still jabbering, but she couldn’t hear a damn thing. Had he shot at them? Were her ears ringing? She didn’t think so. Whatever was happening to her hearing must have been related to her warped vision, which certainly didn’t result from any gunshot.

  Beth was hearing things. Was she all right, she wondered? She would be in the hospital by now, of course.

  Was Catherine seeing things?

  The young man—Rob! It’s Rob!—continued speaking to her, continued moving toward her, and just as she was convinced he wasn’t there at all, that the curse was inflicting her eyes with visions, he proved her wrong with his impatience by pushing the gun to her forehead. She felt the cold, open cylinder on her skin and suddenly all sound came flooding back.

  “Don’t!” Lara screamed, her voice exploding in volume like a passing jet plane. Catherine recoiled from the sound of it, away from the gun, and fell back. She barely caught herself on one arm. Rob didn’t seem to mind. His attention was on Lara now.

  “Shut the fuck up!” he said.

  Catherine couldn’t take her eyes from the gun recklessly pointed in her direction. Lara sat back, hands in her lap. Rob turned again to Catherine, repeated what he must have been saying all along.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  “What do you want?” She hated her voice. It was slow and groggy. It sounded nothing like her. She found, however, her rising adrenaline reviving all her senses a bit. The room was rapidly shrinking back to its normal proportions, the stretched corners relaxing into something more recognizable.

  “What I’ve wanted all along,” he said. “I know you have money. I don’t care how much or how little. You’re going to give it to me.”

  Why are you here? she wanted to say. Why don’t you just rob a bank?

  “Why me?” she said instead. “You have to steal from me?”

  “Lara told me you have money. A lot of it.”

  Weary-eyed, Catherine looked upon her daughter with disappointment.

  “It’s not true,” Lara said. “I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “Bullshit you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t. I just thought it would be easiest…”

  Rob shrugged. “And it still is.”

  Catherine’s neck ached. Her shoulders were stiff. She relaxed them.

  “Put that away,” she said, nodding toward the gun. “You’re not—”

  “I’m not playing.” He pushed the gun toward her, emphasizin
g how serious he was. “I’ll kill you.”

  “You’re not killing anyone,” Lara said.

  “I’ll kill you too.” He swiveled the gun toward her. “I won’t think twice. And him.” He eyed the unconscious man. “I dare you to test me.”

  “You kill us and you get nothing.” Catherine wasn’t sure if she was trying to reason with him or call his bluff. The whole situation was so off-kilter, she couldn’t read her own motives—couldn’t think straight. She spoke to speak, to fill his pauses. Anything to try and take control.

  “I kill you and nothing changes for me. I’ll go on living my pathetic existence. But you won’t.” He laughed—a stuttering sound, on edge. “Not much to gain, but not much to lose, either.”

  “You’re high right now, aren’t you?” Catherine asked.

  He gave her an amused, screwy sort of smirk. “Fuck off.”

  He must have noticed something then, saw it in the corner of his eye. He twitched toward Lara and bared those yellowed teeth. He swiped at her with his free hand, batted something out of hers. The cell phone spun across the floor to the middle of the room. Rob chased after it, stomped it under the heel of his shoe three times. The plastic cracked, fell into pieces. Lara groaned audibly.

  “Listen,” Catherine said, “I really don’t have anything to give—”

  He advanced on her, and before she could finish he swiped the gun across the side of her head. She toppled over. She held her hand to her head, her wet hair.

  “Rob!” Lara shrieked. “What are you doing?”

  “This is loaded! Do you want me to prove it?”

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  The basement was foggy again, but it wasn’t Rosaline’s curse. She saw stars. The throbbing headache had lit up like a thousand sparklers. She was too stunned to listen. She pulled her hand away from her head and saw the blood.

  “We’re going for a drive,” Rob told them. “You’ll take me to your bank’s ATM and you’ll empty it.”

  “You can’t empty an account at an ATM,” Lara said. “There are withdrawal limits.”

  His eyes darted around the room, flicked between Catherine and Lara so quickly he should have been dizzied by it. He was fuming. He was also likely embarrassed. A dangerous combination.

  “Fine. We’ll take out as much as you can. Then…” He thought. His eyes wouldn’t stop their constant pinballing. “Then you’ll write me a check. You’re old, I know you have personal checks…”

  “Why not just get the check now—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” He turned the gun on Lara again. Staring into its deep eye was enough to cut her off. “I don’t want you writing some bogus check… And I need money now…”

  Catherine’s attention was coming back. She pushed herself upright.

  Her voice was tired still—a chore to enunciate. “For more… drugs.”

  Rob scoffed. “Lady, you don’t know anything.”

  “I’ll write you a check… right now.”

  “No. We’ll go to the ATM. Then you’ll write me a check, and you’ll come with me when I cash it.”

  He waited, shoulders rising and falling in time with his panicked breath. He glistened under the sterile basement light, gallons of sweat dripping down his face. Neither Catherine nor Lara could think of anything else to say. He moved toward Catherine.

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “No,” she said, and raised her hands to him, turned her face away. “I can’t leave. Not yet.”

  He struck her hands aside. He wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled her around until she was on her back. Catherine cried. In an instant Lara was up. She leapt, threw her arms around his neck from behind. She reached one arm around him, grabbed him by the wrist which held the gun. He released Catherine. She turned over on her stomach, which churned with the promise of another hot retching. She pushed up on her hands, held herself there, breathed, doing all she could to slow the flood. Although if she did throw up all over herself maybe Rob would be less enthusiastic to share a car ride together. There was an idea—

  Something crashed. A bolt of lightning. It struck the basement, loud as deafness, loud enough to jerk Catherine’s hands out from under her, the untwining of her last thread of nerves. She startled, dropped flat on her chest. Her ears were muffled—a slight ringing.

  When she rolled herself over she saw Lara had decided to join her on the floor. Her daughter lay on her back, chin lifted to a sharp point, mouth open, eyes open, cemented in horror. Rob stood, arms out to his sides uselessly like a scarecrow. His eyes, too, reflected Lara’s. Catherine sat up. She moved toward her daughter, saw her daughter’s hands clutching herself to hold back the red.

  “Oh… oh…”

  Before she could reach her, Rob buried his fingers into Catherine’s arm and hauled her to her feet. He bared his teeth but there were tears in his eyes.

  Sniveling, he said, “Walk with me.”

  Catherine tried to fight him. She was too weak. Instead she let her feet go out from under her. She dipped to the floor, next to her daughter’s body.

  “Forget her!” Rob demanded.

  He tugged Catherine away, dragged her to the bottom of the stairs as she wailed her daughter’s name. There was no will left to go anywhere, to do anything. She slackened her body, refused to cooperate. He tried to lift her, gun juggled in his hand, and she thought it might be great if it went off by accident and put her out of her misery.

  Agitated and unable to move her, Rob leaned in close, “It was an accident. Okay? The sooner we get this over with… I’ll let you go. You can call for help, whatever. I don’t give a fuck.”

  What would that do, she thought? Lara was shot, bleeding out. She’d be dead in no time…

  The gun’s cold metal pressed to her temple.

  “If you really want, I can finish you both off right now.”

  She said nothing—not only in protest, but also because she thought if she opened her mouth she might vomit any second. Then his fist curled up in her hair and pulled her up and she screamed. Her scream was cut short, that hot and bubbly expectation rising quickly up her throat and into her mouth and all over the stairs.

  “Jesus!”

  His feet tap-danced around the oily-black mess. Catherine was at a loss for where it even came from anymore. She should be emptied by now, she thought. Too weak to even wipe her mouth, she looked up at Rob, full of desperation.

  “Take my purse,” she said. “Take my card, my checkbook. I’ll give you…” She burped. She swallowed it down. “—I’ll give you my pin. Just let me go.”

  “You’ll call the police. They’ll be looking for me before I can even—”

  “I won’t. I… I promise.”

  Without a word he picked her up by the hair again and she hollered all the way up the stairs, climbing on her sore knees, wooden step after wooden step. She cast one last look behind them at the basement below. Lara wasn’t moving.

  Dragging her into the front room, Rob dumped her and paced around the couch, around the coffee table.

  “Where’s your shit?”

  He disappeared into the kitchen before returning with her purse under his arm. He dug through his pocket and pulled out a string of keys.

  “We’ll take mine,” he said.

  He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and picked Catherine up off the floor. She leaned against him, nearly toppled his skinny frame.

  “Don’t pull that toddler tantrum shit again. Walk with me. The sooner this is over…”

  He opened the front door and they stumbled out together down the walk toward the driveway where his car was parked. Catherine shut her eyes against the bright sun overhead. Her skull pounded. Every muscle in her body melted in the afternoon heat. Rob cycled through his keys in one hand as they approached the car—an older vehicle, dinged up on its doors, oxidizing on its hood and roof. Disregarding the chance she might vomit again, Catherine chose that moment to turn her face to the sky and scream as loudly as she
could. Someone would hear, come looking, see her in distress, call the police. Her scream lasted all of a second before Rob dropped everything—the purse fell to the ground, his keys—and he clamped a hand to her mouth. He pulled his gun out, pressed it against her hip between them, hidden. He turned around to see who might be looking. Maybe no one, maybe everyone.

  “Do that again,” he said. He pushed the barrel of the gun deep into her side. “Try it.”

  He bent and picked up the keys, then led her quickly around the car to the passenger side where he opened the door and shoved her in. He ran quickly back around, scooped up her purse, and got behind the wheel. He started the car. They pulled out of the driveway into the street. Someone had seen them, Catherine thought. Someone had heard her scream. Someone watched him put her in the car, watched them now as they drove away. They would call the police…

  …and the police would come looking for them, not for Lara.

  “Hurry…” she begged. “Please hurry…”

  “We’ll get there when we get there,” he said. “I’m not drawing any unwanted attention.”

  The car bumped and rolled, its suspension squeaking like an old spring mattress. Each dip sent Catherine’s stomach flipping, her head pounding, her vision spinning. She had the idea she should buckle her seatbelt, but just finding it felt too great a chore. Each turn they made, it was all she could do to sit straight without falling to either side as the car carried them through the sizzling suburb.

  “You killed her,” she said. She lolled her head to the side to face him. “You shot her.”

  His twitchy eyes darted in her direction, eyed her cowardly from their corners. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

  “Is this…” They passed over a speedbump. Catherine swallowed the ensuing nausea down. They were driving past the elementary school now, she saw. “Is this really worth it at this point?”

  “Quiet,” he said, with a surprising amount of calm.

  “Is my daughter’s life worth it?”

  “If you don’t be quiet, I’ll stop the car and make you wish you had. Then it’ll take us even longer, and she’ll lose the rest of her blood waiting.”