Part Three: Chapter Seven
April 3, 1987
"Here's yer paycheck Sara," Bud declared cheerfully, handing Sara an envelope. "And I've gone and decided ter give yeh a raise. Yeh darned well deserve it." Sara smiled faintly.
They were in Bud's office, a small room off the main building. Sara was standing in the middle of the room, in front of Bud's desk littered with piles of order forms, bills, and the works. A typewriter was in the center of it, barely visible amongst the piles of paper. Bud was standing on the opposite side of the desk, facing Sara, small, aged grin on his lined face.
"Yer dismissed. I'll see yeh on Monday. Get home safe." He sat down in his spot, placed a thin pair of spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and began typing slowly.
Sara smiled again but remained standing where she was, vaguely fingering the envelope she held in her hands.
"Sometin botherin' yeh Sara?" Bud questioned, not looking up from the typewriter.
"You gave me a raise." Sara mumbled quietly, not looking at Bud, but at the envelope she held in her hands.
"I know I did. Yeh deserve it too, just like I gone and said." He continued typing on the typewriter, throwing random glances down at assorted sheets of paper.
"Why?" Sara asked, finally looking up from the envelope towards Bud.
"Why do yeh need ter know?" he responded, finally halting in his activity, sweeping the spectacles off his face, and looking at Sara curiously.
"I was just…curious is all. I'll leave. You don't have to say anything." She turned airily on her heel, pocketing her check as she turned.
"Because," Bud mumbled. Sara could hear the pitter patter of the typewriter's keys as he began again. "Yeh work overtime, yeh work well, yeh work hard, yer friendly with de costumers, and das what counts."
Sara spun back around slowly to face the aged, decrepit man, slight smile on her face.
"Thanks Bud."
He winked at her, a sort of faulty wink, but a charming, friendly one all the same. Sara smiled, then stepped out of the stuffy office into the deserted restaurant. Arilyn was just finishing the sweeping and waved at Sara as she exited the room. Sara returned it with a smile and nod, her gaze drifting from the redhead to the pile of clean, dried, organized dishes next to the sink. She smiled to herself slightly, noting a job well done, and bent down to her purse that she kept under the sink.
There were several coins inside, for costumers often tipped Sara as she passed to take used platters and silverware. She didn't ask for it, she just took the coins with a smile and thank you. Sara deposited the paycheck inside as well, patting it habitually for good measure. So what if she was a workaholic by age fifteen? It wasn't as if anybody was going to care except herself, and that didn't matter anyway.
Next to her purse, she kept her backpack filled with homework if she had some she didn't finish in class, and study materials whether or not she had a test coming up. Arilyn often quizzed her for big tests while Sara washed dishes, insisting that not only was she helping Sara, but that she may herself raise her grades from straight C's to straight B-'s. The results were Sara never failed a quiz and she had something to keep her occupied whilst working away the hours.
She reached under the sink again and pulled out her weighty backpack, hoisting it over shoulder with a few tiny sounds of exertion.
"I'll see you Monday Arilyn, at school or otherwise." Sara acknowledged as she opened the door, sending the bell ringing. It was dark out—it always was when she headed home. She sighed slightly, gazing up at several stars and the large moon that illuminated the dark sky. The streetlights guided her towards the appropriate road and today she felt like dancing underneath them. She never would of course, she hated to dance, but if she liked dancing, she was sure she would have. It had been a wonderful day. She had received a raise and another paycheck she could deposit in the bank the next day.
Thankfully, Auntie Em and Uncle Leroy remained to discover her secret occupation as dish-girl at a local restaurant. Her invented excuse to explain her absence was a science study group at school, and fortunately, Em and Leroy lapped it right up. Sara was sure nothing could go wrong.
She was receiving approximately one hundred dollars every two weeks, a fair amount for someone who washed dishes for five hours a day. When she was little, her mother and father opened up a savings account for her to use. Now she used it for her college money, depositing her paychecks regularly, to the point she knew the Saturday's desk clerk by first name.
Suddenly, some sudden noise from behind her in the dark brought her attention from her pleasing situation. She spun around and gazed down the street. A half-illuminated figure was running towards her, small, thin, and frail looking—Sara recognized it instantly as Emma.
"Emma!" Sara cried, gaping concernedly at the girl, her brown hair flyaway, her large eyes even wider than normal. She slowed to a stop in front of Sara and stood doubled over for a few moments before speaking.
"Sara," she panted, gasping for breath, "I ran…all the way…here…tried to catch you…at work…"
"What happened?" Sara questioned frantically.
"I was…at school…the library…" Emma continued, "Your aunt…and uncle…were looking for you….said they…didn't want you…missing…your mother's call…"
"Why would they be concerned about that? I never miss, even if it's on a Friday." Sara pointed out, becoming steadily more worried. They had gone to the school. They had discovered she hadn't been there.
"Emma…" Sara breathed. "They didn't find out that…No they…Did they?"
Emma seemed to have finally found her breath and managed to say the last few words with few pauses and breaths.
"They know. They know there's no study group. You have to get home. I'm sorry Sara."
She really did look it. Her green eyes looked up at Sara pleadingly, as though asking for her own forgiveness. Panic was rising in Sara's throat, that all too familiar lump rising in it. Then the sudden urge to run filled Sara. She had to run, whether it be to her house, to school, to work, somewhere. Her house was the best choice. She would be in the least trouble.
"Thank you Emma." Sara bent forward and hugged Emma tightly before turning and fleeing in the other direction.
Sara sat on her mattress, fear and guilt chewing painfully at her insides. When she had arrived at her house, it was empty. She took advantage of the desertedness and hid her paycheck as deep into her underwear drawer as she could. A book lay open on the mattress beside her but she had given up on it, her mind wanderings preventing her from any sort of entertainment—literature or otherwise.
Suddenly, the clanging of keys and heated mutterings reached Sara's ears and her stomach took a painful lurch. They were home.
"Sara!" shouted Leroy's agonizing voice.
Sara squeezed her eyes shut and remained where she was.
"Sara!" he called again.
The sounds of footsteps nearing reached Sara's ears and she opened her eyes briefly, closing them when he called her name once more. The calls came nearer and nearer to Sara's room, Em's voice soon joining Leroy's. Sara opened her eyes once more and looked at her door. A set of shadows outside it told her that Leroy was standing just outside her door. She held her breath, but continued to keep her eyes open, drawing her knees up to her chest, and wrapping her arms around them.
Then the door opened and Leroy stepped in, his face red, vein popping, his dark eyes crackling.
"Sara Marie Sidle!" he hissed, slamming the door behind him, causing the room to shake violently. Sara's eyes closed tightly in an attempt to press back tears. Her stomach felt as though it had been wrenched forward. She could sense him walking towards her and then an iron grip on her arm, dragging her upwards. She stood tall and dignified, although she wouldn't make eye contact with the furious man before her.
"You lied to us!" he yelled. "Lied! It's a horrible thing and you did it! You're a horrible thing! I horrible brat! Look at me!" He grabbed a hold of Sara's chin and attempted to force her face to his. She strained against it but failed, and when he managed to face her head in his direction, she closed her eyes and bent her head towards the ground. It only succeeded in getting her thrown down to the mattress.
"So where've you really been? All this time? A year? Where've you been hanging out for a year? Alleyways smoking pot maybe? Drinking with your slut friends?"
"Work." Sara muttered dully, rubbing her arm where Leroy had so forcefully gripped it. She could already tell a bruise would form.
"More lies?" he yelled piercingly. He raised his hand to her, causing her to flinch, but she shouted out in protest.
"No really! I've been working! At the restaurant down the block!"
His hand lowered but he remained glaring at her, his normally deep brown eyes changed to a solid charcoal black. "Where's your proof?"
Sara stood up shakily, bracing herself against the wall and walking across the room towards her dresser. The gaze of Leroy was deep and penetrating, and she could feel it on her the entire time she was delving through her layers of undergarments to retrieve the envelope. She hadn't even opened it herself yet and Leroy was bound to destroy it before she could even catch a proper glimpse.
She shakily held out the slip of paper for Leroy and he snatched it up instantly.
"That's the past two weeks pay check." Sara mumbled quietly, gazing wistfully at the envelope as Leroy tore it open, not even bothering to take care in making sure the document wasn't torn.
"Well I'll be darned," he muttered angrily, glaring down at the paper, "It's paycheck to you—one hundred dollars? You get this every two weeks?"
He looked at Sara, his face gratefully turning more pink than red, his vein seemingly fading back into his body, his eyes converting back to their original syrupy brown color, the crackle gone from them. Sara nodded.
Leroy let out a huff of surprise, his shoulders slouching, gaze snapping back to the paper he so limply held in his hand. The next minute went by in complete quiet, Sara's stomach turning, her arm aching. Breaking the stillness, Leroy muttered quietly, "You need to call your mother before the lines close." He brushed past her, forcefully shoving the paper into her hands, resulting in Sara bumping lightly into the dresser behind her.
"Wait!" she called, jogging up to him as he stormed down the hallway. "Are you still letting me keep my job?" she asked disbelievingly.
"Well it's not like I can stop you. Besides, you're useless. No man would ever want you around the house. Go call your mother." He gestured blearily towards the kitchen where Em was fixing up some leftovers, then fell exhaustedly into his puffy armchair. Sara sighed, pocketing her check once more, then striding over towards the telephone in the next room. Em refused to even acknowledge the fact she was there, heating a platter of food in the microwave.
Sara dialed the memorized string of numbers, talked quickly to the telephone operator, requested her mother, then waited patiently.
"Hello?" came the refreshingly familiar voice of her mother.
"Hey Mom." Sara muttered.
"What's wrong baby? You sound exhausted."
"It's just…It's nothing Mom. You don't have to worry. You sound worse. What's wrong?"
"I've got two life sentences now."
"What!" Sara exclaimed, feeling as though someone had just thrusted their full wait into her stomach.
"I've…er…killed somebody else…" Her voice cracked over the other line and Sara knees felt like jello. It was a horrible feeling, she felt as if she were spinning. Em was now gazing at her interestedly as the microwave beeped and she shoveled the food onto a plate for Leroy.
"I'm sorry baby."
"What happened?" Sara asked, extreme panic in her voice.
"Trust me honey, it was self-defense, I swear it was."
"Mom what happened?" Sara requested with more intensity, her voice ridden with tears though her face was quite dry.
"One of the inmates came at me."
"Well then why are you getting charged!" Sara squeaked.
"They've got about twenty witnesses who say it was the other way around."
"Mom you can't say that! You can't!"
Sara's legs gave out. She was kneeling on the ground, dry sobs escaping.
"They had me see a psychologist. He said I'm 'emotionally unstable'."
"Mom! It's not true! Stop lying to me!" Sara cried into the phone. It now sounded as though Laura was crying along with Sara on the other end.
"I have my trial on Tuesday next week."
"I can't trust you anymore…" Sara muttered out of nowhere. "You promised you wanted to be a better mother. You promised!" Tears were finally flowing and Leroy and Em were both gawking at their morbid niece.
"I'm sorry Sara."
"No you're not!" Sara shouted into the telephone. "You're not, you never will be! You're not a mother! You're a murderer!"
"Sara I—"
"What? You what Mom?"
"I love you."
Sara hung up and dropped the now beeping phone to the ground with a clatter. Em and Leroy stood stunned, Em carrying a steaming platter of old meatloaf, Leroy staring down at Sara, his double chin dropped. Sara sat sobbing on the floor. Her mother really was a murderer. It wasn't all just a mistake, an unfortunate situation. It was real. Her mother was a killer.
Next thing, Sara stood up and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her, all happiness from the earlier afternoon gone…gone forever.
A/N: I love this chapter and I don't even know why. I probably shouldn't, but it made me cry. I CRIED. There'll be a song at the end of this fiction. Somebody guess what it is. And the last Chapter will have a title. Not just 'Part 75: Chapter2154254325432652' -I could never write that much.
