Flesh and Blood: Chapter Four

Interlude

When Mae Bishop finally did in her abusive husband and dumped his body in the river, she thought her troubles were behind her. When his ghost shows up and leads her away from the police and straight into the lair of a serial killer, she realizes trouble never left. And when a mysterious angelic being recruits her for purposes yet unknown, Mae knows she and trouble are in it for the long haul.

You're reading Flesh and Blood. This is Chapter Four.

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Mae had always loved driving at night. Ever since she was a little girl, drowsy in the back seat, lulled into peace by the green glow of the dashboard light and the soft tones of the radio. Even now, something about the dashboard lights and the radio voices soothed her, calming her nerves and helping her think.

The cool night air and summer night sounds added to the effect. With the window down and the radio playing softly, frogs and insects made their own music as she wound her way through country roads, slowing for curves, accelerating up hills, picking up speed and letting Wade's king cab four-by-four coast on the downward slopes, so fast it almost felt like a roller coaster.

But it wasn't the dips that were making her queasy. As the road leveled out, she breathed in the fresh night air and willed her stomach to settle. She wanted to close her eyes and savor it, just for a second, but the eye shine along the roadside she spotted every few yards made it too dangerous, unless she wanted to be responsible for ending some poor dumb skunk or 'possum, or worse, somebody's cat who'd been let out to prowl.

"Not sure how making road pizza's going to make much difference to your conscience." Her husband's voice drifted up from the back seat. She glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Wade smirking at her. Tensing up, she turned her gaze back to the road and made a point of ignoring him. "I mean, all things considered," he went on. "Still, maybe you should slow down."

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel. "Maybe you should be quiet. Nobody likes a backseat driver."

"Nobody likes being married to a fat, whiny loser, either, but we all play the hand we're dealt."

Mae turned up the radio. Bon Jovi blared from the speakers, drowning out the frogs and crickets and, more importantly, Wade's voice. The fact that it was playing on the oldies station made her hate life almost as much as she hated Wade.

Of course it was "Livin' on a Prayer." That had been their song. Back in high school, back when he'd thought her the prettiest girl in school and she'd thought he hung the moon. They'd been the perfect cliché, him the football team captain and her the head cheerleader, but despite their popularity and Wade being a shoe-in for a football scholarship, he'd had this idea of himself as some kind of downtrodden working class hero because he had to spend summers working for his father's trash collection company.

He'd talked often about them running away together after high school, and despite Mae's high grade point average she had been dumb enough to think that was the most romantic thing ever. She'd held out until the end of their senior year, but this song had been playing when he'd finally convinced her.

It was prom night, naturally. They’d snuck away from the school gym to go for a drive, but wound up parked on a hilltop on the back of her daddy's forty acres. After sharing most of a stolen six-pack and giving up her virginity in the back seat, this song had come on. Caught up in the afterglow, Wade proposed, and just then life felt too good to say anything but yes.

Mae shut off the radio.

"Aw, why'd you do that?" asked Wade. "That song brings back so many memories."

"Bad ones." Mae glanced at him in the mirror. "'You Give Love a Bad Name' would be more appropriate."

"Don't say that, baby. Those were good days, weren't they? You still had your figure and we had our whole future to look forward to. Nothing like how things are now."

She’d gained twenty-five pounds since they'd married that summer right after high school. One pound for each hear they were married. To hear him talk, you'd think it had been two hundred.

Mae took a breath and closed her eyes. She kept them closed longer than she'd intended. It wouldn't be so bad, would it? To keep them shut and let the truck drift where it wanted? And if that happened to be wrapped around a tree or a telephone pole, that would sure solve a lot of problems.

"Come on, baby. You don't want to do that."

Mae opened her eyes and focused on the road. "Don't 'baby' me."

"Don't be that way. You know I love you. You know I'm sorry."

"You always say that."

"Because it's true. Just because I lose my temper sometimes doesn't change that."

She looked in the mirror again. Not at him, but at herself, at the rapidly purpling eye that wasn't yet too swollen to see out of.

"'Course, if you'd learn not to run your mouth so much--"

"Then you'd smack me around for giving you the silent treatment."

"Oh, here we go." His voice turned high pitched and mocking. "’Wade's so mean. I can't ever do anything right. All he ever does is beat me and call me names.’"

"That is all you ever do."

"All I do? All I do? Like I don't work my ass off all day to give you a nice home where all you do is sit on yours?"

"You call that a home? It's not a home, it's a prison. How many times have I tried to leave, Wade?" She looked at him in the mirror. "How many?"

He shrugged. "I lost count. I got too tired of having to drag your stupid ass back home."

"Well, now I'm the one who's having to drag your stupid ass."

They both fell silent. Mae slowed the truck and turned east, toward the river. After a while Wade said, "What do you think you're gonna do without me, anyway? How are you gonna live? You think about that? You ain't qualified to get a job."

"That's a lie. I have skills."

"What, lying on your back? Yeah, you're skilled at that. Maybe you can find customers who like all that extra meat."

"I'll be fine. I don't need you."

"Keep telling yourself that. When you're out on the streets, wishing you could come crawling back home, you just think about all the nice things I bought for you, all the ways I took care of you. You know you'll miss me. You already do."

"Shut up."

"Or maybe you'll just get caught. That wouldn't be the worst thing, would it? Least you'd get three hots and a cot. Right up until the lethal injection. Not the worst way to go, so long as nothing goes wrong."

"Shut up."

"You ever hear what happens when it does go wrong? When the chemicals get pumped in the wrong order? How you burn from the inside out, awake for every excruciating second while it kills you?"

"Shut up!" she screamed, slamming on the brakes. Her seat belt tightened, binding her against the seat while her head flopped forward, the tires screeching against the asphalt as the truck slid to a full stop. Her head snapped back again and for a moment she sat there, breathing hard and gripping the wheel. When she could focus again, she realized she had arrived at her destination.

She took a calming, cleansing breath, then unbuckled her belt and turned to face the back seat. Wade's seat belt had held, too. He sat upright, right where she'd buckled him. She looked him in his good eye, but it gazed back, unseeing. The other eye had caved in along with the entire left side of his head. He remained blessedly silent.

Mae faced front again, breathing deeply to fight the nausea that threatened to overtake her. It wasn't the sight of his exposed skull and brain matter that did it, although that sure didn't help. But it was the fact that nobody would believe it had been self-defense, not with the extent of the damage she'd done, no matter how many of her own bruises she showed them.

This was a small town, a small county, and Wade was well-liked by everybody. Mae, meanwhile, had no family left, nor had she any friends. Wade had made sure of that. If she'd called the sheriff, she'd be spending who knew how long in the county jail, praying the jury at her trial would believe her and not the parade of character witnesses testifying to what a stand-up guy Wade was, what a hard-working and loving husband.

So she'd focused more on making sure he could never come after her again than on making her story believable. Of course, she could have stopped after one blow. That had done the job, but really, she didn’t think she could’ve quit going if she’d tried. And it had been self-defense. Or did it still count as that if she only picked up the hammer after he was already done with her?

He’d been all smiles and kisses and grabby hands when he’d first come home and hung his tool belt on the back of the kitchen chair. Until he noticed she didn’t have his dinner ready, and then he’d turned on her. Lying sprawled on the floor, her head throbbing and stars swirling at the gray edges of her vision, she saw him walking away, heard him telling her to get up and clean herself up and get dinner on the table. She had considered not moving, making him come back to force her, hoping he would go too far. Maybe put her in the hospital where somebody might finally believe her. Or maybe put her in the ground. At least then it would be over.

But she obediently climbed to her feet, unsteadily, automatically, hating herself as it dawned on her what she was doing. She stood there, steadying herself, preparing to go cook his dinner, apologizing for its lateness, and her gaze landed on his hammer and suddenly everything was clear.

He never saw it coming. That was her only regret, that his back had been turned. It would have been satisfying to see the look on his face as she brought the hammer down.

Mae glanced at the dashboard clock. It was almost three in the morning. She looked out across the bridge, down the long stretch of straight road ahead, and saw no trace of headlights approaching. None back the way she came, either.

She got out of the truck and opened the back door. Reaching across Wade's lap, she unbuckled his belt. She braced herself, grabbed hold of his cold hands that were already growing stiff, and pulled as hard as she could, jumping back just in time as he flopped over and tumbled out onto the ground.

Mae had already taken his wallet, but she crouched down and checked his pockets one more time to be sure she hadn't missed anything that would identify him. She could only thank her lucky stars that he didn't have any tattoos. He'd always thought they looked trashy.

He was heavy, but getting him into the truck to begin with had been the hardest part. She dragged him by his ankles, all the way to the center of the bridge. It occurred to her once she got there that she should have turned off the headlights in case there was anyone around to see. She stood panting, staring down at the long drop into blackness below. It concealed the river, but the sound of rushing waters confirmed its presence. It would carry Wade a long way before anyone found him.

She'd be long gone by the time anybody even thought to look for him, anyway.

When she'd recovered enough of her strength, Mae crouched down and looped her arms under his shoulders and sat him upright. Then she heaved him to his feet and leaned him against the rail.

"You don't want to do this, baby," he said, his good eye focusing on her. "I'm gonna haunt you for the rest of your life."

"No you won't. Your days of torturing me are done."

"You're breaking my heart, you know."

"Then you shouldn't have broken me."

With a shove, he tumbled over the rail. She leaned over, watching him fall, watching the blackness swallow him up.

And just like that, she was free.

Even if they caught her, she would still be free.

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Keep Reading:

Flesh and Blood: Chapter Five

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