1The Come Back
Chapter Four
"Pelle," the evanescent voice of her mother penetrated her dreams. Pelle frowned her face and turned as if to shield her ears from the disturbance. Her mother reached down taking a hold of her arm, and constantly shook her. Pelle peered through her mostly closed eyelids and up at her mother. "Wake up," she said, "I gotta go. Jim invited me to go to Italy with him." She smiled and trotted over to an oval mirror and admired a diamond necklace that rested around her neck. "I think he might be the one. We're on our way to marriage, I tell ya." She turned back to look at Pelle and make sure she was awake. "Anyways, my flight leaves in an hour and my ride to the airport is waiting outside."
Pelle sat up and rubbed her arms which were freezing. Her mom scurried happily out the front door, dragging a few bags behind her. Pelle went to the door and stepped out onto the porch, squinting her eyes against the bright snow and shaking her head at her mom. She turned back before disappearing into the limo that Jim had sent for her and yelled, "Take carry of ruffles for me." And with that she was gone, replaced by a silence only filled with the sound of the limo's engine rearing as it drove off down the street. Pelle shook her head again, this time letting out a sigh that contrasted the chill air that had settled on her lips. She turned and went back into the house, closing the door behind her.
She headed straight for the kitchen and fetched one of the cartons of ice cream and a spoon. These, and ruffles, were her companions on the couch for the next few hours. She sat around watching old-time movies for awhile, too frustrated to do otherwise. It was so boring now, she had nothing to do. Finally, she sat the half eaten carton of ice cream off to the side and headed off to the bathroom to take a shower. It didn't last for long this time, she wasn't in the mood to stand up for a long time right then. She threw on a white, zip up shirt, black and gray skinny jeans, and a pair of her mom's snow boots that matched the shirt.
As she went to step out into the hallway, she heard a faint popping sound that grew louder and louder as she listened. It took her a second to recognize it as gunfire and, when she did, she stepped back into her room and got down on the floor. Ruffles came running into her bedroom and stood next to her, barking with all of his miniature might. Pelle laid with her body pressed against the hardwood floor and covered her head with her arms. She could hear things breaking in the living room and the hallway outside of her room. Then suddenly, the shooting stopped, and was replaced by the sound of faint yelling, car doors, and tires against the surfacing pavement of the street.
Pelle stayed where she was, too terrified to move, still grasping the reality of what had just happened. The world around her went white silent and everything seemed to be moving slowly for a few moments. She pushed herself up from the position she'd curled into on the floor and glanced over to Ruffles. His tiny mouth was flapping open and closed as he looked at her with strange eyes. The sound of him barking faded into reality and with it, the rest of the world seemed to return to normal. She slowly stood up and stooped back down to pick Ruffles up, "You okay, boy?" He whined a bit and let out a strange bark of assurance. With him in her arms, she walked out into the hallway, peeking around the doorway first, just to make sure.
She could see from just outside of her door that the front room and most of the hallway had been completely messed up. As she passed by the other three doors in the hallway, she saw that they all had multiple bullet holes in them, along with the walls. And as she stepped into the living room, her jaw dropped. The chairs were ripped open and stuffing was hanging out of them. There was glass on the floor from the picture frames and her mom's antiques. The television was still on but the picture was warped by two holes that were in the screen. She heard someone coming up onto the porch and still managed to be startled by the four loud knocks that sounded from her perforated front door.
"Anyone home," it was a woman's voice. The voice sounded familiar, but Pelle, out of fear, couldn't bring herself to answer the door, at least not without protection. She ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the longest, sharpest knife she could find before returning to answer the door.
"Who is it," she asked, standing back away from the door. The silence that followed her question seemed too last forever. Pelle's breath quickened and she began to panic. What did they want? Who were they? She heard a few more voices outside of the house and the sound of more people walking up onto the porch. Her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest and make a run for it, but it stayed loyal and didn't ditch her. The muffled sound of a police speaker came through the door.
"Is anyone home," followed three light knocks on the door. Pelle relaxed and stumbled over to the door, twisting the knob, which fell off into her hand as the door eased open. A hand slid in and lightly pushed the door open. Pelle stepped back again, and the man who stepped through the door first was more concerned with the room than he was with her, partially because he didn't notice her there at first. "Is everyone okay in here," he called out.
"Yes," she spoke, causing the man to snap his head around in surprise, "It's just me and the dog. But we're fine, I think." She motioned over to Ruffles who looked at the police with caution, as if he didn't tower about six feet over the dog. The man told her that he would need her to step outside so that he could take a report from her and have her check by a paramedic. "Was anyone hurt," she asked, still a little shaken as she followed the man outside and into the cold morning air.
"No," he replied, "Miraculously." She stopped a short ways down the staircase and looked back up at her house. The front of it had been bombarded with bullets and rid of windows. She let out a sigh that nearly brought tears with it, and shook her head. Her mom had worked hard to get that house and now it was destroyed, along with most of her sentimental things. Pelle put her hands up over her face and fought back the urge to cry. How would she possibly fix this?
"Pelle," she looked over and saw Jack's concerned face, "What happened?" He jumped up over the fence that separated their yards. She shook her head and stuttered over words for a moment before she regained her composure. She told him everything that had happened and how badly damaged her mom's house was. "Thank God you're alright," he said, "You can figure that out later on, but for now, you need to let that shock wear off, okay?" She nodded at him, clearly comprehending someone's words for the first time since this morning when her mom left.
A paramedic came up the staircase towards them and gave Pelle a quick look over. She told the older woman everything that she'd done while the shooting took place. The woman shined a light in Pelle's eye and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what day it is," the woman asked, and Pelle took a second to think about it, "I think you should take a visit to the hospital, just to make sure." Pelle looked over at Jack and back to the woman before nodding her head. She trudged down towards the ambulance and waved back at Jack before stepping inside.
She'd never been in an ambulance before and, when they closed the doors on the back, she felt an eerie feeling, shut in by herself. She couldn't help but wonder how many people had died or been born in there. She recognized some of the equipment hanging around from her medical classes. The woman peered back through the window every now and again, and Pelle would look up at her and smile.
Jack had watched the ambulance roll down the street with genuine concern. He felt like he should have gone with her, but had decided not to. The small dog tromped down the staircase and looked up at Jack, who bent down and scooped the dog up. He ventured out of her yard and over into his house. As he walked inside and shut the door against the cold air, he half-spotted Bobby stumbling down the stairs, still sleepy. "Hey, you little fairy," he mumbled, "Got yourself a new lap pet? What is that?"
Ruffles barked at Bobby unfamiliarly, and looked back and forth between Bobby and Jack. "It's Pelle's," Jack replied with a participant smile, "I'm keeping an eye on him while she's out." Jack placed the dog on the floor and carefully stepped over him and into the living room. Angel came running down the stairs with a baffled look on his face and minimal clothes on his body.
"There are bullet holes in my window," he said in a raised voice, "What's going on?" He frowned at the little dog on the floor, which tilted his head at Angel. Lavita eased down the stairs behind him, dressed in pajamas and fuzzy boots. She stood, midway down the staircase, just in eye's view, and placed her hand on her hip. Angel looked back at Booby and Jack and raised an eyebrow to show that he was waiting for an answer. Bobby looked at Jack as well and shifted his feet around on the hardwood floor.
"Oh," he said, "Yeah, somebody came by shooting about thirty minutes ago. Got Pelle's house pretty bad, must've gotten ours too." Bobby's eyes widened at the mention of Pelle, and he darted back up the stairs, returning moments later, looking completely disheveled as he attempted to rush and get dressed. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair looked tossed and his pants weren't zipped yet. He put his long jacket on over his clothes, half stepped into his shoes and tucked the shoe strings in before rushing out side. He didn't bother going the long way; instead he simply climbed over the fence that separated the two yards.
He looked at the house in horror as Jack jogged out of their house next door looking astonished at his brother's haste. "Bobby," he called, "She's not there man. They took her to the hospital." Bobby stared in silence for a few more moments, long enough to make Jack think that he hadn't heard what he said. But just as he prepared to repeat himself, Bobby turned and rushed down the long staircase, out of the opened gate, and over to his car.
"Where are my keys," he spoke low, to himself, as he fiddled for the keys in his jacket pockets, "Which hospital, Jack?" With an expression like he'd just thought of a bright idea or found the hidden meaning of something, he pulled his car keys out of his pants pocket and paced over to the driver's side door. Jack walked out to the car and opened the passenger side door as Bobby started the low rumbling engine. Angel and Lavita emerged from the house; both were fully clothed now, and secured the house behind them before rushing out to the car and piling into the back seat. Jack pushed his seat back and slid into the car, closing the door with a slam that seemed to echo for a bit.
"They took her to Southwest," Jack informed his eldest brother. Bobby nodded and kept driving with an intent look on his face. "Bobby, she was fine when she left, she'll be fine when she gets back. We should go home." Bobby shook he head and slowed the car down, gradually bringing it to a stop. There was a long silence that filled the car and buzzed in their ears, over the sound of the engine. He sat there, with his hands on the stirring wheel, staring straight.
"What the hell is wrong with me," he sighed and turned the car around in a speedy u-turn. He shook his head and, on the way home, looked as if he wanted to turn around again. He turned a few corners and took a detour so that he could drive straight up in front of the house. When they arrived, he turned the car off and leaned back in his seat. "Go in the house, man." The other silently got out of the car, not daring to ask any more questions, leaving him alone in his own requiem.