Page 18 of Phoenix
“Yeah, I’m done!” I call out, before closing the door on her. “Let’s get out of here fat boy.”
I meet Charlie back inside the car, which looks like it could collapse under his hefty weight at any moment. With his chain-smoking, love of greasy shit, and bottles of beer by the dozen, his heart must be fighting around a mound of fat, sweating over each and every thump, while cursing the asshole and his penchant for consuming ten times the daily recommended calorie intake.
“Find anything?” he grunts.
I could tell him about the girl in the closet and he would either, a) shoot her, or b) take her back with us where she would fall into a life of drugs, prostitution, and probably suicide. Or I could stay quiet and let her figure out what to do next for herself.
“Nah, but…shit, I forgot my phone when I was taking pictures to share with Luis!” The boss likes to see the particularly bad houses of his clients, he finds it fascinating, and this certainly is a bad one.
“Cabron!” he mutters and shakes his head as I get out of the car.
My phone is firmly sat inside my pocket, but for some reason, I can’t leave that quivering mess in the closet. I head straight back to her room and open the door again. She’s still crying in a puddle of her own piss, and her eyes staring vacantly out into the space before her. She tries to shuffle back into the wall behind her, like if she tries hard enough it will take her into the magical realms of Narnia. I wonder how many times she’s tried to do that in her miserable life.
“Hey, hey,” I whisper, crouching down toward her, but she throws up her hands to try and block me from coming any closer. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart…hey, stop it…” I grab hold of her flailing hands, trying to soothe her, but, understandably, she’s skittish and angry. “Hey, look!” I say more firmly and with an expression that tells her not to fuck with me. “What’s your name?”
She finally stops fighting me and finally looks into my eyes with her big, frightened, green ones. She then shakes her head and begins to emit small sobs again.
“Listen, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” I look over at Charlie as he lights up another cigarette. “You have a phone?”
She nods timidly so I get up to scrawl down my digits, which could be epically stupid given that her parents are currently lying dead in the room down the hall, but as she’s seen my face anyway, what does it really matter? I’m pretty much screwed if she decides to hand me in, though something tells me she won’t. Life has already dealt her some shitty cards, so what else does she have to lose? A year or two stuck in foster care? Being passed around like an unwanted rag doll, or worse? Believe me, I’ve been there, I know.
I hand her a scrap of paper and then stand to leave, her watching my each and every movement like I’m the new Messiah.
“Give me two hours and then call me,” I mutter from the doorway, “I’ll help you.”
“M-Mia,” she whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear, but I smile all the same.
“Trust me, Mia, I won’t hurt you. I’ll look after you. I mean I know someone who can look after you; she’ll keep you safe. Ok?”
Her wide eyes stare at me but other than that she makes no other movement to confirm she understands one way or the other. In the end, I turn away and leave. Who knows if I’ll hear from her, but at least I’ve tried.
______
It’s 2 am and nothing. No sleep, no dozing, no word from Mia in the cupboard. Just a whole load of staring up at the ceiling, waiting. What the hell am I waiting for though? For the poor girl who had to hear her parents being executed, to call the monster who was there to carry it out? For the girl who was so scared she literally pissed herself and remained shivering inside of the puddle of urine while she waited for the drug dealing scumbags to exit her house before she…what?
I finally get up to go and put the news on, like I have on the hour, every hour since Charlie and I got back from the dump of a house. I’ve seen quite a few murders now, but never done one myself, I am only an apprentice after all. I’ve developed a thick skin to it, totally desensitized to the extinguishing of life right in front of me. I once saw Luis slowly insert a serrated knife inside a guy’s chest and twist it until the life inside of his eyes was completely switched off. The smell of his blood, his death, had me puking up for three days straight. The painful pace of his killing perhaps made that one the most gruesome of all the executions I’ve had to witness. But it made me cold as stone to it all, so now I think nothing of the likes of Charlie killing for no other reason than the victim pissed off one of the higher-ranking members in some way.
However, this one is different. This time, the true victim was an innocent girl, curled up and crying in the tiny, dark space of her methodically tidy wardrobe. This one I can’t sweep under the carpet, save for a rainy day, probably when I will be breathing my last few breaths and remembering all the shit I’ve done in my life.
The Telly comes on in bright technicolor, hurting my retinas with vibrant reds, blues, and greens as the reporter comes into full view. She’s spouting off about the nearby rescue home for unwanted pets holding a fundraiser. Funny, they never held one of those for my home, a house for unwanted kids who have been passed around like hot potatoes that no one wants to hold onto for too long. I guess Fluffykins, the cat, is more endearing than a teenage thug with a whole list of issues, ranging from anger to abject misery because he has no idea who he is anymore.
After a few minutes of watching the dogs wag their tails at the reporter with teeth far too white to be anywhere near natural, the headlines are listed off. Not one word about the killing of a local couple in a pigsty for a house, or the teenage daughter who was left behind in her own piss. I frown over it; something would have been said by now. What if she’s still there? What if she never called it in? Fuck!
Without even thinking about the ramifications, I pull on my jeans and grab a jacket to go outside. I only have one helmet for my bike, but I’ll go without if she’s still there. Because if she is, I’m not leaving her behind this time. She’ll be coming with me whether she likes it or not.
As I enter the quiet road leading up to the house, or ‘the dump’ as Charlie nicknamed it when he regaled Luis of his recent job, my bike suddenly seems to be much noisier than usual. It’s an old bike, a classic if you ask me, but it’s not one I can ever see myself parting with. If I ever have kids one day, God forbid, it will be passed on to them. I have nothing else to give.
At first, I slow down and continue past the house, just to see if there are any lights on, or police tape, anything to say the murder has been reported and the inhabitants taken care of. However, when I go past, there’s nothing, only confirming my suspicion that the girl inside is still in there, traumatized by what happened this afternoon. I switch off the engine and proceed to walk it back up the road to the house, trying my best to remain as quiet as I can. If she’s still in that closet, she’s going to be beyond skittish, a frightened mess, so I need to tread carefully.
The outline of rubbish and old pieces of furniture are clear beneath the moonlit sky, but now silent. Even the flies have given up and gone to bed. All I can hear is the odd cricket rubbing its wings together, trying to keep cool amongst the vegetation surrounding the garden. When I reach the door, I think about knocking, but then decide it’s probably best just to go in, and not give her a chance to run. I prepare myself for the smell, reminding myself that Mia’s room, where I’m now headed, is a relief to the senses. I also try to steady my nerves over the fact that two dead bodies are lying over a bed not too far away. Dear God, I hope she hasn’t gone out to look at them.
I walk inside, trying to navigate the layout from memory because it’s pretty dark except for the moon sprinkling luminosity over the surfaces of garbage lying here and there. Once safely inside the safe haven of Mia’s room, I close the door on the smell, the detritus, and the heavy feeling of death, and take a deep breath in. It still smells of incense, even though I’m guessing they haven’t been lit for a long while. She must have them burning constantly when she’s here and not sitting in a traumatized huddle.
“Mia?” I whisper out into the darkness. I then mentally berate myself and switch the light on, before calling her name again, this time with more backbone behind it. “Mia? It’s me, it’s Diesel.” I shake my head at myself because my name probably induces fear more than comfort to this poor girl. A small bang from inside the closet has me bolting toward the door, my heart pounding and my breathing beyond rapid. “Mia, I’m not here to hurt you…it’s just me.”
Nothing.
“Mia, I’m going to open the door, sweetheart, I’m here to help!”