Surface Tension - Kling Christine - Страница 55
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I turned my head to the side. My face was contorted in a painful grimace, my lips pressed together my eyes squeezed shut. I wasn’t about to let him see me cry. The bastard.
Suddenly, he pushed me away so hard I fell to the ground and hit my head against something metal on the floor behind the hanging clothes.
“Ugh, you fuckin’ dog. Get the hell offa me,” he said. The door slammed, and I found myself in total darkness, feeling the warm, sticky liquid flowing from the growing bump on my forehead. “Chewy, stay.”
I heard the outer bedroom door close.
XXII
At first, I lay my head on the musty carpet, catching my breath, massaging my throat. Then I sobbed, wetting the fibers with my spit and tears. I felt vomit trying to crawl up my throat, and I swallowed it down, sick with the vision of terror in Ely’s eyes. I wasn’t certain I ever wanted to move again. Who would want to live in a world with men like Crystal, Zeke, Eddie, and Cesar? I saw that hand again, those fingers wringing her life away, and heard their laughter as they watched the video again. My mind eventually went numb as I just sobbed quietly, curled up on the floor.
When the tears stopped, I felt nothing. I slipped into a half-awake, half-asleep state, only vaguely aware of what was going on around me. Every once in a while I heard voices in the distance, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The crack of light under the door slowly grew dimmer. That was the only way I knew that time was passing. Once the light was completely gone, and no one came to see if I was alive, I began to sense a weird disorientation. What if they were just going to leave me in here to die? No food, no water and with the way my bladder felt, I’d soon be lying in my own waste. After a while, the walls of the closet seemed as though they were closing in, then tilting. In the blackness, I lost the sense of which way was up as the room began to spin.
I forced myself to stand and spread my arms out in front of me, touching the sides of the door. Not all men are like them, I told myself. I thought about B.J., my father, my brother Pit, even Maddy. There were good, decent men out there.
I began to explore the inside of the closet. All the clothes appeared to be men’s clothes—slacks, shirts, jackets, shoes, nothing unusual or distinctive. The jackets smelled of a musky cologne and faintly of cigarette smoke, as though they had been worn only to parties or clubs. Clothes filled only half the closet. The other side was piled high with sealed cardboard boxes. I tried lifting one—it felt very heavy, like it might be filled with paper or books.
There was a safe in there, too, about three feet high. I had bumped my head on the corner and I pulled a shirt off a hanger to wipe the encrusted blood off my head.
The closet’s doorknob was a round ball, the old-fashioned sort of lockset found in the fifties houses in Lauderdale. These old doorknob locks were laughable. In the center was a depression, a hole, and if I had a bobby pin or a screwdriver I could stick it in there and turn the lock. I needed something about an inch long, maybe a little more—assuming this was the only lock on the door. I tried jiggling and rattling the knob. Sometimes in these old houses, things were loose enough you could just jiggle the lock free. It didn’t work this time, though, and from the sound of the throaty growl on the far side of the door I suddenly understood why they weren’t worried about the stupid little lock.
“Hey, Chewy, good dog, good dog,” I said aloud, and my voice sounded funny in the darkness. He growled, and I heard him snuffling along the base of the door.
“Good dog, nice dog. You don’t want to eat me now, do you?” I continued the soft friendly tone, saying lots of nonsense but giving him time to get used to my voice. I put my fingertips at the base of the door and let him smell me while I sweet-talked him.
I stood and began going through the pockets of the clothing hanging in the closet, all the while continuing to talk softly to the dog. It was possible I’d get lucky and find a pocketknife, a nail clipper, something I could use to unlock that door. He (whoever he was) had shirts, jackets, parkas, robes, and racks of ties, belts, and shoes. He favored the molded plastic hangers—there was not a wire coat hanger in the place. I found lint balls, packs of gum and cruddy old wrappers, crumpled receipts, broken cigarettes, and lots of change, but nothing to help me open the door.
I slid to the floor and leaned my back against the door. Chewy whined, this time for more attention.
I got up and felt my way to the safe, shoved the hanging clothes aside, and climbed on top of the smooth metal box. When I stood, I whacked the back of my head against the edge of a wire rack, but by holding on to the bar I was able to lean back and feel what was on the shelf. Nothing on this side. I grabbed the wire shelf and tested it for sturdiness, then leaned across to feel the other side. Much of the shelf was empty, but shoved all the way to the back was another cardboard box. I could just get my fingernails into the crevice on the bottom of the box. Swinging my leg out, I searched for some of the boxes on the other side to prop my leg on. I found one and had just started to pull the box off the shelf when I lost my balance and fell, pulling the box down on top of me. My head avoided a blow for the first time in a while, and thankfully, the contents of the thing were not heavy. As I reached around the floor feeling for what had fallen, I found only scattered papers and a three-ring binder—nothing to work on the lock on that door.
Damn. He’s got belts in here, I thought in frustration. I could always hang myself.
Belts. I stood up and began feeling my way down the row of clothing until I came across the hanger containing the collection of belts. I felt my way to the buckles and began searching for one with a flat metal prong. The first one I tried wasn’t long enough to reach inside the locked knob, and the second was too big around to fit in the hole. The third slid right in, and after I jostled it around a bit, it slid into the slot, and I felt the lock turn.
So far so good. Now I just had to keep from getting eaten alive by the friggin’ pit bull. Then I remembered ... the gum! I searched through several jackets before I found the first pack. 1 slid it into my pants pocket and kept on searching. I wound up with five partial packs of gum.
I crouched by the door and called softly to Chewy while unwrapping a stick. I folded and stretched the gum, releasing more scent. The dog’s nose was snuffling, working overtime along the crack at the door base. I slid the gum through and heard the slobbering sound as he devoured the first piece.
I had this dog eating out of the palm of my hand, literally. I slid another piece under the door. My heart was coming up my throat as I turned the knob and slowly swung the door open. The dog’s dark shape slowly advanced on me. I held a stick of gum at arm’s length and watched the huge muzzle closing in on my hand. Chewy opened his mouth and licked my fingers before taking the last stick of Cinnamint. The lump that should have been his tail waggled back and forth on his rump.
The dark bedroom appeared bright to me after what had seemed like hours in the closet. The drapes were drawn, and the door to the hall was closed, but I could see a sliver of light under the door. I scratched Chewy’s ears and checked my gum supply. Nothing but Juicy Fruit left. I gave him another piece, thinking he was going to be sorry in the morning.
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