Disclaimer: On Chapter One. Rated PG13.

Ice Tea with Mary Lee

By S.C. Little

Edited By Ladyhawke Legend

Waking Up in Hell Chapter Two

Willow Grove: Nashville, TN January 1, 2156

Mary remembered she had to secure the barn before the storm hit, but why was she on the dirty barn floor. Fighting against the ache in her temple and the feeling of nausea she got when she sat up, she could only make out a swinging lantern and dark shadows dancing around her on the floor.

She had been unconscious, but she didn't know for how long or why. Was it a fallen beam? She didn't think so. She saw that she had somehow left the barn door open and that it was now growing into the early morning hours. The smoky blue color of the sky outside was what informed her of the passage of time. Why did she leave the barn door open? Did she miss the storm?

As she began to gather her wits about her, she noticed dark splotches on her nightgown and gray overcoat. But it wasn't just on her; it was everywhere: on the wooden stall in front of her, on the post closest to her, and on the floor. An old-fashioned ax, just like the one she used to chop wood for the old fireplaces in her bedroom and living room with, was lying by her leg. The entire blade of the ax was soaked in the dark stuff that stained her clothing, but the wooden handle was as clean as a whistle. She picked it up by the handle and examined the blade.

With closer inspection she discovered that the dark substance was congealed blood. Mary began to tremble. "Oh God. Oh dear Jesus, please, let this be a dream." Dropping the bloody ax, she rolled over onto her knees and crawled across the dirty, blood splattered barn floor. She followed the splotches, watching them become bigger and broader.

"Dear God, let it be an animal. Please, please, please!" she cried. Tears flowed from her eyes like overflowing streams. She didn't notice the splinters of split wood, long forgotten, when they entered the flesh of her palms and knees as she crawled across the floor.

The splotches led straight to a closed stall door. Unlike most stall doors, hers were designed to be closer to the floor. She'd have to kneel really low to peak under it, and under the current circumstances she decided against it. She pushed the door inward instead and crawled inside. There lay the body of a small man. She crawled over to him to see if he was still breathing, but from the looks of all the spilt blood, she seriously doubted it. Unfortunately, all her effort was in vain. This man must be dead. He was missing his head and a few other body parts.

She screamed and wailed as she gathered his lifeless bones into her arms and rocked him gently. She knew who it was. Jack Keet, the simple-minded fellow who helped her with the horses for a few weeks out of the year. Now there were no more ponies and there was no more Jack Keet.

Another series of cries pierced the darkness of the early morning hours spooking the ponies in the neighboring fields. They were cries of sorrow, but there was also a soft cry of pure glee. In the dark, a few miles away, a figure smiles and said, "Get'ya got'cha, girly girl."

-3:00PM. In the house of Mary Lee-

An attractive, older woman in her nightgown and overcoat that was drenched in dried blood sat on her couch next to a man that could be in his seventies with red and gray, thinning hair. He was wearing dark brown pants and a camel colored sweater over a white callared shirt. Mary and Isaac sat opposite to a man in a chair, holding a data pad, and wearing what looked like his Sunday best.

"For the hundredth time, I found him in the stall. What part of that don't you understand?" Mary was exhausted. The police had been there since five-thirty in the morning. And the asshole investigator had been askin' the same questions over and over again.

"Because, Ms. Lee, I find it awfully strange that the murder weapon has your fingerprints all over it, and you were the only one at the scene of the crime," the investigator replied in a rather irritated and frustrated tone. "Now doesn't that strike you just a tad bit peculiar?"

"Sir, Mary has used that ax many times. Of course it would have her fingerprints on it; she chops her own wood," Isaac Hodges said coming to her defense. Mr. Hodges was a dear, old friend of Mary's. As soon as the authorities were contacted, she'd called him. It also didn't hurt that he was a retired lawyer.

The sleazy investigator grinned and said, "Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Hodges, the only fingerprints found on that ax belong to Ms. Lee. There are a few more things I'd like to cover than just the ax, however."

Mary nodded in agreement that he should go on with his questions. "Well, there were a few things that were a mess. There was an turned over chair, a busted door handle, a broken stall door, three hay bells knocked over, and a few very interesting, open journals scattered around." The investigator looked up from his data pad. "Is your barn kept that way normally, Ms. Lee?"

Mary wasn't just annoyed with the investigator now; she was down right pissed at him. She understood that the cops and whoever needed to examine the crime scene, but she was a very private person and there were certain things she wished would be left alone. She also hated that he was implying that she was a thoughtless housekeeper. "What journals?"

"Oh, I think you know about those, Ms. Lee. And in fact, I believe they'll be quite vital to our investigation, don't you?" The investigator sat on the edge of his chair leering at her.

Mary smiled and gritted her teeth, "Well sir, if you think a few journals would help you solve this case, then by all means take them, I have a grocery list on the fridge. Would you like to take that too?"

The investigator smiled vindictively, "No need. But I'm going to have to confiscate those clothes you're wearing. Please go with Officer Clay into the other room and remove them. He'll bring them back."

Each sentence this man spoke aggravated Mary even more. He had already decided that she was the killer, and he didn't seem that interested in giving her the benefit of a doubt. She knew that he knew she had a criminal record. "I'll go change, but without your policeman. I am sixty-three years old, sir. I'm fully capable of dressing and undressing myself," Mary said in her most stern voice.

The investigator had not stopped smiling, "That, Ms. Lee, is not an option."

The bastard didn't care if this embarrassed her or was so demeaning that she could feel tears sting her eyes. He didn't need to care, because in his eyes she was the cold blooded murderer that the rest of Willow Grove believed she was. Bloody Mary was whispered whenever she was at the supermarket, in town, or even at church. Children cruelly sang it as they skipped rope or played hopscotch. But if undressing in front of a complete stranger would make this bastard go away, she would do it.

After she went into the bathroom with the policeman in tow and peeled that old, bloody nightgown off and old, gray overcoat, she wrapped herself in her bathrobe that was hanging in the towel closet. At least the policeman with her was gentleman enough to turn around while she undressed. She went back into the living room and gave the soiled clothes to the investigator. "Is that all?" she asked in her most angered and hurt voice?

He took the garments and put them in a long, metal container and handed it to the policeman, who took it and went outside leaving Mary and Isaac with the investigator. He clicked his pen, closed his data pad, and stood up from the chair. "I suggest, Ms. Lee, that you don't leave the state." He made his way to the door. He turned back around to face Mary and Mr. Hodges, who were sitting on the couch. "We'll talk again." And then he was gone.

As they heard a few of the cops leaving in the shuttle crafts, Isaac spoke first in his gentle grandfatherly voice. "Mary, everything's going to be okay. They'll catch the dog that did this. Don't you fret now." He patted her hand.

"Did they call Mrs. Keet and try to tell her what happened, why her son won't be home for breakfast?" Mary asked.

"They did, and I went with them, but you know her. She still doesn't understand that George won't be coming home either," Isaac told her. George was Mrs. Millie Keet's husband, and he had been dead for sixteen years. After a few of her strokes, she had lost all sense of time and reality. In her mind, all was right with the world and it would never change. "She told me not to worry about Jack, that he'd probably gone for a walk with his dad, and that they'd be back for supper. She sends her love."

"I can't believe this is happening again." The whole situation gave Mary the feeling of deja vu. Her husband was killed this way and she had been the main suspect, but they never could prove it since they could never find the head. She shrugged Isaac off and stood up and walked to the kitchen. "You know they're gonna crucify me." She looked out the screen door where she could see her clothes line and a few neglected towels flying in the icy wind outside. "It's just a matter of time."

"No they won't. I won't let that happen," Isaac said, always the optimist.

"Isaac, I've already been to jail once for another crime. And this is not the first time this kind of murder has happened around me. They are going to look at this and put me away for life. Now stop being foolish, you know we can't win. Somebody has set me up big time." She walked across the kitchen to go to the bathroom and wash up. Even though she had given the investigator the bloody clothing, she still had some of it on her and needed to get cleaned up. "I need to take a bath. I don't mean to be a poor host, but please close the door when you leave."

"Mary, I have an idea, and I need you to keep an open mind about it," Isaac said sternly.

Mary turned around and crossed her arms, "How open?"

"We both have a few friends in high places," Isaac said meaningfully.

Mary looked at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. What did he mean by that? Then it dawned on her. "Isaac, no. Absolutely not."

"Mary, please, he could help us, if you would just stand still and let me explain," he pled.

"What do you have in mind?! Call him so he can get some big shot lawyer and save the day? I've been in jail already, Isaac, and a suspect in my husband's murder. They'll laugh right in his face and his reputation would be as good as shit." Isaac flinched at the last word she said. He never did care for profanity.

"Mary, if I don't call him and tell him what has happened and let you be sent up river, he would never forgive me." He replied.

"And I will never forgive you if you get him involved!" Her face was hot with anger. She stepped closer to Isaac to let him know she meant business. "I don't want his good name sullied by mine. Do you hear me?!"

Isaac's voice was soft and quiet. "Yes, Mary, I hear you."

She turned away saying, "I'm going to take my bath now. Close the door when you leave."

As she soaked in her big tub, she knew Isaac would call Jonny. It was the only card they had left to play. But would it be worth it? Could he come in on a white horse and save the day? In her heart she thought not.

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Ice pelted the window as Mary slept. Frigid wind roared over the roof, creating dreams too familiar to have just come from inner fantasies, but from the memories of the sins she had committed in her yesteryears.

She was walking to the barn when soft, sweet humming grabbed her attention. She stopped and listened again. It was a tenor, a young man's voice. Jonny. She ran to the open barn door to see if it was really him.

And like magic there he was on his knees, an old-fashioned screw driver in one hand, and a new hinge in the other. He was trying to fix one of the stall doors. Wearing loose jeans and a torn, red, plaid shirt, now tied around his waste, he was a nice sight. Sweat dripped off his naked back. His hair was a little long, just touching his neck. It was a sandy brown color that turned dark at the nap of his neck because of his sweating. He was such a handsome boy. Clear skinned, well-muscled, and he had the most breathtakingly beautiful green eyes she had ever seen a man have. Bedroom eyes.

But someone else was in the old barn, too. He wasn't alone. She looked to her right and there stood an African-American woman, in her thirties, dressed in an old, powder blue, summer dress, barefoot, and holding a glass of ice tea. It was her, just younger. She would now admit that she had been a beautiful woman. She had long, crow's wing black hair that sported a French braid, and big doe eyes and milk chocolate skin.

Mary stood still. This was a memory. Her younger self and Jonny couldn't see her.

She noticed how beautiful everything looked lit by a few lanterns. 'Golden,' she thought. She saw her younger self walk closer to the boy and heard her younger self ask, "Hey, Sugar, thirsty?"

Jonny looked up from his task, startled. He stood, smiled, and said, "Yes, ma'am," like he always did. 'Such a polite boy,' Mary thought. Then the woman handed him her glass of ice tea, and Mary noticed how much his hands shook. He took the glass and drank deep, but he spilled some down his chin and neck.

Looking a little embarrassed at himself, he pulled the glass away from his mouth and brought up a hand to wipe the sugary drops away. She grabbed it to still him from that task and brought her face close to his. She spoke softly to him, "Me, too." She then slid her tongue up his chin to his lips, licking him lightly and seductively.

Mary watched how his eyes closed and how he visibly shivered at her touch. Then she heard her younger self quietly comment, "Mmmm, sweet."

She abruptly awoke. Her breath was coming fast. It hadn't been a bad dream, certainly not a nightmare to fret over, but it was still very unsettling. "But if it wasn't a dream..." she commented quietly, as if someone could hear her secrets, thoughts, dreams, and words.

She jumped out of her bed and ran downstairs. "What if they can? Oh God, please no." She prayed more to herself than to her creator. Hopping off the last step, she swung open the front door and dashed outside towards the barn, completely ignoring the weather.

The barn door was closed, and there was no way to get inside. The police had taken precautions. It was protected by a force field, not allowing anything to contaminate the crime scene. They'd informed her that they would take it down in a few days though. But now there was no way to enter the barn. They'd made sure of that.

Mary feeling completely helpless sank to her knees. She couldn't fix the stall door and Jonny would come back. She illogically tried to convince herself that if she could have just fixed that door that would keep Jonny away. This only meant that she wouldn't be the only one to be thrown to the lions. She wasn't being melodramatic either. She had been around for a long time and she knew people. As soon as his ship docked and entered her life once more to prove her innocence, he would be ridiculed for defending the murderous whore of Willow Grove.

Perhaps God would be merciful. She didn't think she could bear Jonny's good name to be soiled because of her.

TBC

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Author's Note

My thanks to Ladyhawke Legend for editing this story. And also the reviewers who have read it and gave me there oppenion. Also, if you are wondering about my review on my own story, I'm really not patting myself on the back. That review belongs to Ladyhawke Legend after reading one of her chapters of one of her latetes stories. It's a long story and not worth telling the whole thing. So, I'll shut up now.