Chapter 9 Save My Soul
"You hey you there, can you save my soul? I caught your eye and with it you let me know. You won't bury me. You're the part that makes me whole. Now I'm here, and I'm not backing down. I'm here, you're here, and we're not backing down. Swinging from the background, swelling from beneath. What was in the darkness blooming under me? Rising from the ashes, waking all the dead. Tearing through the sadness ringing through my head. You, hey you there, can you save my soul?" Save My Soul by Eisley
The ice covering the stream was thick, but from her place on the rickety wooden walking bridge, she could see the water moving beneath it. It rushed on and carried away, still wanting to be part of the plan; the way things should be; uninterrupted and unaware of winter's intrusion. In this season of cold when most things stopped or stalled, the water kept going. It stayed the course despite its frozen glass layer.
In the park, an uninterrupted carpet of white unraveled, stretching for miles. Nobody intruded upon it, tromping across it in their sloppy shoes. The moon's fat, blank face reflected off of it, and the quivering trees bent their weighted limbs to touch it. Every freezing dark thing around her made her homesick for a feeling she'd abandoned a long time ago.
Love. Desire. A good orgasm. Murphy MacManus.
"Snow's starting up again," someone mentioned as he shuffled past her.
Elise reached out just beyond her own nose, grasping at the tiny drifting flakes. Opening her hand, she watched what she caught dissolve into the faux leather covering her palm.
Suddenly, she was shoved roughly into the railing of the bridge.
"Goddamn it, watch where you're going, lady!" The man snarled, turning his back before she could get a good look at him.
She hadn't even realized she was walking much less in someone's path.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, but he didn't stop.
He marched forward, hunkered into a dingy green coat; the fabric looked scratchy, grating to her eyes. He glanced back, outgrown layers of black hair whipping into his sunken eyes. He barely blinked before tucking his sharp chin back under the wide collar of the coat, putting his head down against the force of the wind trying to push him backward, back into her.
He had no business scowling at her like that, but he had, and it bothered her. She wanted to know why he'd flashed her with such a chilling intolerance. On a whim, Elise decided to follow him. She walked after his slight, hunkered form. One may know that curiosity killed the cat, but in her case, it drove her into the arms of dangerous situations. It twisted her usually good intentions, causing turmoil. It usually ended with someone dying. But she hadn't learned her lesson yet.
In just a few short days with her, Murphy recognized this about her. And that's why he chose to follow her on her little late night jaunt into a completely foreign city.
He turned the corner with her following a few strides behind the stranger. She crossed the street, ending up at the slummy liquor store the guy was stalled in front of. The stranger gazed in the front window, clueless of Elise's bundled form watching a few steps behind. Next to the store sat a sleazy hotel.
Shoving her hands into the deep pockets of the long plaid coat she'd borrowed from her sister, Elise stared into the lightless door of the hotel. It made her think so she thought about the prostitute she'd befriended a year ago in Boston; the Irish redhead with the sickly toddler she kept selling her body to feed every day.
Elise had rounded up some used clothes and toys to the used-to-be pretty woman before the drugs dwindled away her supple figure and caused her teeth to rot. She invited her to eat at the soup kitchen. She even invited her to attend church at the shelter. They talked regularly. Until one particularly cold night when she'd arrived with a box of old cold weather clothes to find Katie's usual spot vacant.
"Katie's dead," the hotel proprietor informed Elise before she could even get both feet into the lobby.
She was stunned. "What happened?"
"What do ya think? She overdosed," he mused. His apathetic eyes rolled upward, "I found her a week ago upstairs foaming from the mouth. She looked like a rabid dog put out if its misery. Damn hookers and their drugs."
"What about her son? What about Liam?" She'd asked.
He didn't flinch. "How the hell would I know? I didn't even know she had a kid."
She'd stumbled out of there, fists bawled into her eyes, dropping the box in the nearest dumpster as she fled.
Now. If only I knew who had sold her the drugs. There'd be no more tears for Katie. Just bullets.
Murphy watched the stranger enter the store. Elise had taken a long pause, obviously distracted by some dark thing looming in her mind. He wondered what in the hell she was thinking about out in this cold. What she planned to do here.
If only he knew what she knew about the guy. He wasn't just a drunk or a punk looking to score a five finger discounted bottle of booze. He was a prostitute. Like Katie. Elise had seen enough of them to know.
Soon, she entered the liquor store, shaking the snow from her hair and stomping her feet on the damp rug stretched along the cracked tiles. She paid no mind to the muscled transvestite texting behind the counter. Pop music blared from the radio while a silenced television screen predicted another three to five inches of snow for the metro Omaha area.
She found the stranger in a cramped aisle. He was just staring at the bottles. His fingers twitched, and he shoved his thumbnail between his pale, quivering lips.
She knew the thoughts he constructed in his scheming brain. Aahh, the choices. Which one to take. I need this. Screw those lousy meetings. Nothin' better to do than wait around for another willing john. Might as well get wasted. Makes the deed get done a little easier.
Elise stepped toward the stranger. He flinched, shoving his hand back into the front pocket of his pants. A handful of black hair fell over his face like a thick velvet curtain, and he hid behind it, refusing to look at her.
He didn't have to see her to hear her voice. "What are you going to do, drink yourself silly until the next customer?"
"What?" His eyes, so dark, lined with charcoal pencil, filled with lifeless despair. "I dunno what you're talkin' about. Mind your own business." He sulked away.
She realized he didn't recognize her. He had no idea she was the one he'd practically forced over the side of the bridge just minutes ago. Either that or he just didn't give a damn.
She trailed after him. It was no surprise to find him in the neighboring aisle, but he was clearly troubled, pacing in front of the vast selection of cheap wines. She reached across him, clasping the long neck of a bottle. As she pulled it to her, her arm gently nudged his.
He recoiled sharply. "Look, lady, I don't know what your problem is, but,"
"I'm just looking for some company," she smirked. "I've got cash."
He stopped pacing, but kept a short distance from her. "Oh yeah? Well, I've got a Greyhound to catch."
She snuck a peek at the clock hanging above the beer coolers. "It'll be a while. Buses aren't running in this weather." She wagged the bottle of wine in front of his watchful eyes. "Whaddaya say? Just a couple of drinks? I'm buying. And my car's on the other side of the park. I can give you a ride to the station."
He stepped closer, his eyes sidling over to her. The woman was nondescript; chubby. She had a pleasant face like a million other pleasant faces he'd glimpsed over the past few weeks traveling city to city on his way to Vegas. Except it looked like this face had taken a substantial beating recently. Despite the markings, there was something else- a light; a powder soft glow of sweetness, something he couldn't ignore. Or resist.
Concern clouded a pair of pretty eyes. He decided it made her reachable; trustworthy; cute in a harmless kitten kind of way. If it was company she was looking for, he could oblige her because passing a bottle of wine back and forth in a warm car was better than sucking down something harder alone against the cold brick of a deserted building. And like the lady said, she had cash. He had just what she needed to spend it on.
She headed past him to the cashier's counter. "Come on if you're coming," she said, winking.
He joined her, ordering a pack of cigarettes from the cashier. Elise eyed him, and he shrugged. "I'm out, and I won't be good company without em."
She nodded, handing the cashier a few bills. Before the transaction was complete, she perused the candy shelf, tossing a chocolate bar on the counter next to his cigarettes. This time, his brow cocked. She grinned sheepishly.
"Cute top," she complimented the tranny.
Its top was a loud purple long-sleeved sheath; a throw-back to Disco; the most unflattering and unattractive rag a woman let alone a man dressed as a woman dared to wear. The stranger scowled, but the tranny smiled broadly.
"Thanks, doll," He-She growled deeply.
They stepped out into the November night unaware of Murphy's watchful eyes upon them from the doorway of the seedy hotel.
What in the fuck is she doing? He gaped.
Under the warped awning, the stranger stopped to light his first cigarette in half a day. She looked on, noticing the snow was falling heavier, piling up faster. The drive to the station would be dangerous, but not as dangerous as accompanying this complete stranger to her car. She'd been reckless before, but this was nuts. And she knew it.
She tapped at her purse. Loaded and waiting. Just in case.
Swallowing her nerves, she said, "I'm Elise, by the way."
"You can call me Johnny," he grumbled.
Her suspicious eyes darted over him. "Is that your real name?"
He exhaled a blast of smoke. "Yeah, but what the fuck's it matter to you? You're getting what you need and I'm getting what I want, right? Names really have no place in this."
"However you want it," she breathed.
They stepped in silence, sauntering along as she tore back the wrapper on the chocolate bar. She chewed while he smoked and stole glances at her. She held out a broken bit of candy.
"Want a piece?" She offered.
He shook his head, seemingly bothered. He pushed her hand away. "I don't eat that shit."
She shrugged indifferently. "Suit yourself."
She popped the chocolate between her plump lips, grinning her pleasure at him. She had no idea Murphy was again following.
The stranger let her move ahead of him, leading him through the desolate park. He didn't wonder about her. He wasn't intrigued by her or interested in knowing anything about her. He didn't care what kind of job she held or why she was out by herself in this part of town looking to pick up a random stranger. Her reasons were her own. All he cared about was getting warm, getting drunk, getting laid, and getting paid. Men, women, didn't matter. At least she was mildly attractive.
"How much further?" He asked. "It's beyond fuckin' cold out here."
"We're here." She stopped beside a car that looked as beat up as her face.
"This is your car?" He gawked.
She handed him the wine while she dug for her keys. "Get in."
He did. A few feet away, from beside a tree, Murphy shook his head. "I'm going to fucking kill her if this douchebag doesn't do it first."
In the driver's seat, Elise watched him guzzle the wine. When he'd had his first fill, he passed her the bottle. She shook her head.
"No thanks. I bought it for you."
He dunked back another swig. "Why?"
"So you wouldn't steal it, of course."
"Of course," he sneered.
She almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Am I really doing this? My intention had been to rescue him from committing a potential crime, but now I may have just invited him to commit an even more serious one. Involving me!
."We should go," she said. "I'll take you to the station."
"What's your hurry?" He already slurred. She had no idea how he'd managed to down almost an entire bottle of wine in so few minutes, but he had. And it was hitting him like a speedball. "Show me the money."
"What money?" She asked, startled and confused.
He gave her a look like she should certainly know. "For whatever good time you are looking for. Sixty bucks will get you a half an hour. You want a full hour it's gonna be one twenty."
Oh. She stared ahead, blank, out the windshield. "I think you have me all wrong. I don't want your..uh, services."
It was his turn to look startled and confused. "Then what do you want?"
She kept her eyes on the falling snow. "Just to help you."
Out of the corner of her eye, a dark shape manifested at his window. It tapped at the glass. Elise and the stranger both jumped. She gasped. He roared.
"What the fuck! It's the cops."
She leaned over him. Murphy ducked down, placing his face onto the glass. His beady blue eyes narrowed in on her, and he graced her with a plasticy fake grin. Then, he waved.
Her face tightened; her mouth straightening into a taut chord. Oh stinks. "No, it's not the cops," she sighed, knowing exactly where this was going to land her. "It's my friend."
"Open the door, Elise," Murphy yawned.
Johnny gaped at her. "Wait, your friend? You mean boyfriend?"
She shook her head while contemplating just starting the car and tearing away from the curb. But the roads are so icy.
Johnny wavered a bit in the seat. "Aw, don't tell me your fucking married."
"Not even close," she snickered.
Murphy tapped harder at the window with the butt of his gun. "Open up. Now. Or I open it for you."
"Open it," she told Johnny.
Johnny was cowering closer to her. His face had collapsed into a grimace of terror. "No fucking way, lady. The dude's got a gun. Just go! Drive!"
She put on her calmest tone. "It's okay," she said. "Really. He's my, my," finding the right word in such a pushy amount of time was harder than she thought so she stuck with the truth. "He's my chaperone. So, just let him in."
Johnny reluctantly unlocked the door. He winced as the tall, black-clothed figure bent in the open door. "Where are you going with your new drinking buddy, Elise?"
"His name is Johnny, and I'm taking him to the bus station," she said, flat, unimpressed by the start of this interrogation.
"Do you even know where the fuck that is?" He asked.
She nodded, pointing a gloved finger out the windshield. "Yes, we passed it on our way in to town. I know exactly where I'm going, thank you."
Murphy wagged his brow at the shrinking passenger. "Lemme in the back. That way if you do anything remotely scummy I can see. And I can blow your wrists into bloody stumps."
The drive was dangerous and quiet. While she worked to keep the car on the road, Murphy drove his hardened stare into her through the rear view mirror. She flicked her eyes over his several times, but looked away quickly each time.
Probably not the best time to play Stare Down with him, she decided.
Finally, Johnny cleared his throat and spoke. "So, what did you mean by this guy's your chaperone?"
She didn't answer. She waited for Murphy's reply in the mirror.
But Murphy put it back on her in his most sarcastic, dicky tone. "Yeah, Elise-what does that mean? Johnny would like an explanation."
Her deep sigh marked her defeat. She glanced over at her edgy passenger. "Well, you see-I'm from a mob family. The Yakavettas. Don't suppose you've heard of them? From Boston."
Johnny's head shook numbly.
"Didn't think so," she continued. "So, anyway-my chaperone here killed a very important member of my family eight years ago in a courtroom full of other family. It forced me to go into hiding when the family broke into a civil war. I thought my whole family was dead, but it turns out my brother, who I thought had turned on me, had actually been in on keeping my identity a secret. He also had my sister in hiding. Here, in Nebraska, it turns out. So, these two-"
Johnny cringed, looking back at the man in the back seat. "Wait, there's two of you?"
Murphy nodded.
"Anyway," Elise broke through. "I have two chaperones paid to see that I got to Nebraska safe and sound until my brother and cousin can get here and relocate us to God knows where. But in the meantime, we've run into all sorts of trouble. Can you believe I've actually had to kill someone?"
Johnny gnawed at his bottom lip. The chewing helped him take it all in. "You're from a mob family. This guy is a hired man for the mob. And you've both killed people." He nodded his acceptance. "I'm so fucking dead."
"Actually, you're not," Murphy sneered. "All thanks to her. You should be thankful she didn't let you steal from that store. Or get into a different car. One with a dishonorable man that would've rather strangled ya and robbed ya than do whatever it is you do."
They had pulled up to the station. Murphy placed his gunless hand on the passenger's trembling shoulder. His tone was reverent and strong. "Be thankful the Good Lord was watching out for you tonight and sent an angel of mercy to guide ya. Now get the fuck out of the car before your good fortune runs out."
She could barely say goodbye to Johnny. He scrambled from the front seat, but Elise jumped out and met him at the front glass doors of the Greyhound station. Murphy watched their exchange, amused and strangely satisfied with himself. He watched her pass a wad of cash to the drifter
When she returned, he shifted to the front seat in one swift movement of long legs. And again, they drove in silence.
After a few minutes of head-splitting tension, she reached for the radio knob. Murphy stopped her hand.
"What?" She blurted. "Just say it. The not knowing what you're thinking is killing me."
He cocked his chin at her; the way her father did before reprimanding her with a forceful slap. But Murphy's hands stayed docile. One still gripped the gun. "You can't save the world, Elise."
"You told me that before," she belted defiantly.
"Yeah, and I'm telling you again. Stop putting yourself in these fucked up situations. Why aren't you with your sister? Or with that girl you brought along? Why couldn't you just stay put?"
She shot him a look of dread. "Because I've been staying put for the past eight years. I needed to walk. To think. Breathe. So what if I want to save someone from making a bad decision. Everything was fine. I have my gun, if not. I don't need you or your brother around every corner saving my butt."
Murphy got louder. "Apparently you do. Helping someone doesn't always require you loading them up and relocating them."
"It's working pretty well for you right now," she scoffed.
"Aw, now this isn't the same as what you're doing. Picking up that lowlife. You know what he had in mind for you. Nothing respectful, that's for sure."
Elise was appalled. She cocked a wary eye at him. "Oh, like you were respecting Blondie in the bar?"
It only enraged him further. "Damn, not you, too. First I got my brother hounding me about her. Now you. The two of you need to lay off,"
Elise held her hands in smug surrender. "I'm just keepin' it real."
Now, he was shouting. "Well, if that's the case then let's get real about you and Connor in the pool! Or letting him put his fucking hands wherever he pleases. You may as well,"
Again, she interrupted him with a calmness that drove him crazy. "Oh, pfft. Please. Your brother's an okay guy when he wants to be, but he's no you."
Murphy paused. What she'd just said hardly registered. He needed clarification. "What was that?"
Her head cocked knowingly. Her eyes had gone all soft and watery when she faced him. "Oh, come on, Murphy. Don't tell me you don't know what I want from you."
He held her gaze, stone-faced. "What do you want from me?"
"Kiss me, Murphy," she lightly commanded. The way she said his name; lusty, airy, but anchored down with the slight weight of emotion.
Still wallowing in his irritation, he found the request just what he needed to push him past his reservations with her. Every annoying word that poured from her mouth only seemed to be stirring a much bigger pot of hunger, need, and frustration inside him.
I'll do more than that, he vowed.
He kissed her. First, an uncommitted peck to see if she was level-headed; involved. When she responded, parting his lips and demanding much more with an enthusiastic tongue, he slid closer.
His mouth covered hers; the small, soft lips she'd imagined on her for days now. They were nothing short of miraculous, bringing her to a rapid boil in seconds.
(End of chapter)
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