Hey, beyatchs! Here's the next chappy. You should all bow down to me because I busted my ass off to get this done quickly. Ungratefuls! I had to boost the rating because of some freaky situations and for my ever present bad mouth. Enjoy the story!
After the Fall: Chapter Eight, "Road Kill".
By: LolitaRed
Rated: R, for language and adult content.
"I told you! I'm not praying tonight!"
"Betha-"
Gran's voice was blocked out by the slamming door. Stomping over to the bed, she threw down the covers and crawled in. She pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to get comfortable. Her chest heaved up and down and her head pulsated.
It had been six days since the funeral. All the family had flown back to their bayou, leaving her in this crumbling brick house.
Breathing deeply, she tried to stay calm, to not knock anything over. The sour, pumpkin- like stench of sweat and unwashed skin filled her nostrils. Her whole bedroom stank. She hadn't taken a shower since Mom's funeral, and stayed up in her room all day, every day. Gran had tried to get her out, to pull weeds, or go shopping, but Beth refused to go. She only left her room to eat or use the bathroom. The rest of the time she would sleep or stare out the window.
She liked looking out over the fields. The bright greens and golds were the only things that gave her an ounce of pleasure. But even they didn't help much. She was still stuck here, in this house. In this body. In this life.
Turning over, Beth looked out the window again. The sun was starting to set, the sky was a pale yellow with pink and orange clouds streaking across it. Mom would have loved it.
Her insides sunk a little, like they did whenever she thought about Mom. She fought the pain, tried to push it away, and think of something else. There was nothing else to think about. Her future? What future? Spending the summer with Gran, then going to some damned Catholic school for girls? What kind of college or job would want a freak like her? What kind of guy would want her, (even with her stunning good-looks). She couldn't think about the future, or the present, and certainly not about the past.
For a couple of minutes, she laid there. Listening to the house creak, and her own pounding pulse. Then Gran's footsteps began coming closer and closer. They stopped just outside her door.
"Bethany?" she asked, voice soft. "May I come in?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
"What do you want?" Beth asked, burying herself under the blankets. "I already told you I don't want to pray."
She heard Gran walk over to her, and felt her weight on the bed.
"Look at me." she said.
Beth turned over. Gran sat there in her prim black dress, hands on her knees, staring back at Beth.
"What?" Beth asked, waiting.
Gran sighed, looking down.
"I don't know how much more of this I can take, Bethany." she said, solemnly. "It's only been two weeks and I've already . . . "
Given up hope? Gone insane? Have the urge to kill like the voices in your head tell you to?
"Why can't you just do what I ask?" she pleaded, the bags under her eyes illuminated by the sunset. "How do you expect to get to heaven if you don't pray?"
"I don't give a shit about heaven." she mumbled.
"Don't start." Gran said, hands balled into fists. "I've had enough of your mouth. Each curse word you say is another step down on the stairway to God."
"I don't care!" she said, louder; sickened by the stupid phrases she used.
"Yes you do." she said, wrapping an arm around her massive back. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but God feels your pain and He'll help you through this."
Beth sat up and tossed Gran's arm off of her. She couldn't take it anymore.
"Fuck God!" she screamed into the old woman's face. Which earned her a slap across the cheek.
Now this was a shock. Gran, despite her many threats, had never hit Beth before, and Lord knows Beth has given her plenty of reasons to.
Her cheek stung, and the skin below her eye twitched.
"Get out!" shouted Gran, her face red and twisted in rage. "Get out of my house! I can't take it anymore!" As she screamed, Beth rolled out of bed. She hurried to the closet and pulled on a black, wool sweater and her jeans. She went to the desk and grabbed any spare change she had.
After searching every drawer, she looked on the desktop. A crumbled piece of paper sat curled up next to the table lamp. She knew it was the address to that institute. Not knowing where she would go, Beth grabbed it and shoved it into her back pocket. Just as a last resort, she told herself.
Turning to the door, she looked back at Gran, who stood, red-faced and shaking.
"Don't look for me, 'cause I won't ever come back!" she yelled, grabbing her new coat and putting it on.
"I won't." hissed Gran. "Not after how you treated me, ungrateful bitch!"
"Fine!" she yelled, slamming the door again and running down stairs.
She entered the hallway, stormed out the front door and tore off down the street. Before she knew it, she was already three blocks into town. The lights of Gran's house could barely be seen behind the tall pine trees.
The sky was darkening. A cornflower blue stretched across the sky, bleeding into the pale yellow. It was still early, no stars were out.
Even though it was the beginning of summer, the air was chilly. Still Beth walked on.
She followed Main Street and walked along the sidewalks. The buildings changed from simple little shops to run-down apartments. Luckily, no one seemed to be around.
The streetlights lit up, bathing the cement in an eerie orange glow. The sharp breeze cut across her face and hands. Her legs were getting tired, and barely lifted off the ground, scuffing her feet against the rocks. Her shoes felt tight and hot. She must have walked for at least two miles now.
A couple of cars had driven by, carrying mostly old white people. Some were Hispanic and honked at her when they passed.
"Eh, grande bebe!" a fat man shouted, leaning out of the passenger side window. "Agitar el' para mi'!"
Beth had no idea what he said, but knew it couldn't have been good, so she edged closer to the buildings and walked faster. She didn't even look up when the guy and his buddy drove off, laughing.
The buildings were starting to disappear as she got to the far west of town. Feeling tired and sore, she sat on the sidewalk, under a streetlight and rested. Her feet were sweaty and ached. It hurt to bend her legs. Her eyes burned with sleep crust. She was tired way beneath her skin, deep into her bones, where no amount of sleep would help. She didn't know how it had happened. How she ended up like this. It had only been two weeks.
She didn't have the strength to walk for much longer. She needed a place to rest. Maybe a quiet spot in the woods, or an abandoned car. Thankfully, she found something better.
Puerto was an open 24/7 truck stop at the edge of town. The bright neon red sigh flashed and blinked. There were no cars in the gas stations, and from what she could see, no customers were inside. Dragging herself up off the ground, Beth skidded across the street and walked into the store.
Inside, the bright fluorescent lights blinded her for a minute. The sound of 'muzak' filled the air. The whole place reeked of greasy food, oil, and car air fresheners. In front of the long aisles of various nick-knacks and junk foods, the counter stood.
A boy, about five years older than Beth sat on a stool and watched her. He was long and lanky, and pale and pimply, with thick, brown, greasy hair. He wore a ragged T-shirt under his work vest and had a single hoop earring in his right earlobe.
At the other end of the counter was an old man with balding hair and dark liverspots. This man didn't look at Beth, instead he was fast asleep on his stool, a frown plastered on his smug face.
"Can I help you?" asked the guy, looking down from a newspaper.
Startled, Beth squeaked out her answer.
"No, I just need to use the bathroom." she said, crossing her legs and jumping slightly to add to the act. "Where's it at?"
The guy reached for something under the counter and pulled out a long red piece of plastic with a key hooked to the end.
"It's down past the cold drinks." he said, tossing her the key and pointing to the other end of the store.
"Thank you." said Beth, turning around and hurrying to the restroom.
She unlocked the door and entered the dark room. Flipping the light switch, she headed to the mirror.
She didn't recognize the girl looking back at her. There were dark circles and red dots under her dull brown eyes. Hadn't they used to shine and glow a few months ago? Her once silky black hair hung greasy and lank against her back. Her skin was turning a sickly yellow color and looked ashy. She hadn't lost any weight that she knew of but her whole body seemed to sag and droop like a deflated balloon. She looked like she was a zombie, or she was sick. Or dying.
She turned away from the mirror and went into one of the stalls and sat on the toilet. Maybe she could lock the door and sleep here. Even if that worked, what about the next day? Would she go to some shelter? Get a job and live off the streets? The thought of her life like that sent a wave of cold sweat down her back. She couldn't go back to Gran's, not that she wanted to anyway.
"Are you okay in there?" the guy pounded on the door.
"Yeah!" she called, hurrying out of the stall and unlocking the door. "Here." She handed the key back. "I wanna buy some stuff before I leave."
A smile spread across his face. "Oh, okay." he said, letting her browse around the aisles. "We have some great nachos if your hungry."
She smiled back and continued browsing.
No matter what she looked at, she knew she couldn't buy it. With only a handful of change jingling in her pocket there wasn't much she could buy. There was only one option left, a five-finger discount.
Beth had never shoplifted in her life, but then again, she never had to either. It was a good thing for her that the one thing she knew she possessed was common sense and that was all one needed to successfully shoplift.
The first thing you'd have to do was buy something, it throws them off your track. Since she was truly thirsty from the over-two-mile walk, she decided to buy a soda. She picked out a 12-ounce bottle of generic grape soda, (the cheapest one), and walked back to the counter.
"I'd like this, please." she said, digging in her pockets for some quarters.
The guy rang her up. She caught the name tag on his vest. James Howlett stood out in bold black print.
"Would you like that in a sack?" he asked.
"Um. No." she said, reaching for her pop. "Would it be okay if I shopped some more." Never ask if you can 'look around' or 'browse', always say 'shop'. It lets them know you're going to buy something.
"Sure." he said, picking up his newspaper again.
She went back to the aisles. Hanged out by the ready to eat foods, acting like she might buy a hotdog or a paper bowl of nachos. Slowly and idly she edged back to the other aisles. She completely bypassed the bags of chips, (they would make way too much noise if she walked out with them). Instead she stuck with the candies. The chocolate bars in their tight wrappers would be perfect for easy sneaking. Looking back to make sure none of the two were looking, she quickly but stealthy shoved a Baby Ruth and Snickers bar into her pocket, then casually walked over to another aisle.
That's what she did for the first fifteen minutes. She'd pick up things, (a small wolf or moose statue, a bag of jerky), examine them carefully, then would put them back and move on. If she found something she thought she could sneak out, she slid it into her pocket. By the time fifteen minutes had passed, she had successfully hidden the candy bars, two sticks of Slim Jims, and a pair of beautiful pink Cowrie shell earrings she'd spotted in the small jewelry rack.
Just to make sure they wouldn't suspect her, she grabbed a box of Nerds from the candy aisle and went back to the counter to pay for them. In case something made a noise when she walked away she could blame it on the Nerds.
"Thank you." she said, smiling the most shy smile she could muster.
"Your welcome." he said, like he'd said it eight thousand times that day. "Are you waiting for someone?"
"What?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"Is someone going to pick you up?" he asked, craning his neck to see out along the gas stations.
Tears in Heaven started up in the little stereo behind the counter.
"Uh. My mom went to get . . . a hotel room." she lied, trying to maintain eye contact. "She said she'll pick me up in about a half-hour."
"Oh." he said, sitting back at his stool. "Well, you could sit down on that bench if you want."
He pointed to the chipped green bench at the end of the counter. Next to it a rack of magazines and cigarette lighters stood.
She sat down, her pop and Nerds at her side.
Would you know my name,
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same,
If I saw you in heaven?
What was she doing? What's wrong with her? She had no home, no family, no money. And she was just sitting there with stolen junk in her pockets waiting for a mother who'd never come to pick her up.
Would you hold my hand,
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand,
If I saw you in heaven?
All she wanted was Mom. She wanted to go back to her house, to her old, bare life and stay. She wanted to know what Mom would think, what she would say if she could see her daughter now. She wanted to go to heaven and be with God, Jesus, and Mom. Why couldn't she go?
Time can bring you down,
Time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart,
Have you begging please, begging please.
When she wiped her eyes with the back of her fist, she noticed something on the magazine rack. A copy of a Ladies Home Journal laid on top of the others, the same issue Mom had been reading, (she could see the nutmeg cookie recipe advertised on the cover).
"Are you okay?" asked James, looking up from his paper.
Sniffing slightly, she said, "Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired is all."
"Okay." he said, turning back to his paper.
That's when she saw it.
On the front page of the paper, a few columns to the right, was a picture of the man that had talked to her at Mom's funeral. The headline above it said:
William Powell found dead in his hotel room last night at 4:00 a.m. by a woman next door. Apparent cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the head, no doubt a suicide. Powell, father and husband to two passengers on the infamous SilverBird that crashed in Lake Michigan two weeks ago. . . .
Tears blurred her vision, she couldn't read the words anymore. Instead she looked out the glass door, out into the dark night. A lone Semi truck could barley be heard, blaring it's horn at something.
Poor Will. He'd lost his whole family, because of her. All the condolences and comfort of his friends didn't help, still he gave up and pulled that gun out of the drawer and put it to his temple, (or better yet, in his mouth). Had Lily been the woman that found him, dead on the floor, a big gapping void where his head used to be?
Something snapped in her mind, like the last puzzle piece being connected to the rest of the jigsaw. She knew what to do now. Will had shown her.
Beyond the door,
There's peace I'm sure,
And I know there'll be no more,
Tears in Heaven.
"Hey. Where are you going?"
That was the last thing she heard as she stepped out of the store. The cold air chilled her body, but didn't stop her. She walked, fast, out past the gas station, out into the road. The headlights of the Semi flooding her vision, the horn blaring so loud it was deafening.
Whew. Well, what do ya'll think about that? Again, I had to split this chapter because it was SO long. The rest of it will be in #9. I know, I know, Logan's real name is James Howlett, (to those of you who didn't know, well now you do), I just couldn't think of a name for the kid so I used Logan's instead, since they never call him that in Evo. Tears in Heaven is a very good song by Eric Clapton that I was listening to on the radio when writing and had to squeeze in. Hope it didn't hurt the story much. I guess that's about it, so bye. OH! I am in desperate need for a beta reader. So, would anyone mind being mine? Review if ya want the job.
Review Response:
To matt: So sorry I didn't get your response in the last chap, I had already written the chap before I got your review. That's why I give you top billing in this chap's response. Don't worry, the story will speed up from here on out, now that the main funeral stuff is over with. Can't wait to hear from you. ;)
To Omega: God that was weird. I'm petrified of ghosts and stuff so that would've scared the hell outta me. Thanks again for the advice. Email me, beyatch! ;)
To DreamerLady a.k.a. my neglecting muse: First of all, I was going to instant message you last night and tell you I finished the chap but you were too frickin busy with your other little pals to talk to me so :P Just kidding. Email me sometime and tell what ya think. Bye, beyatch!
To Rustic Dragonfly: Thank you so much for reviewing! I rarely get reviews from people other than my regulars, (who I love deeply!). Glad you think my story's good. I know most OC fics are the 'flash in the pan' type. And you're right, that was Beth's first cig, she just wanted to fit in. Hope you like this chap. Bye. ;)
To Chiara: Glad you like Beth. Most OC's are so annoying, aren't they? Please, review again! Bye-bye. ;)