Paying What You Owe

Originally posted April 16, 2012

This piece is an excerpt from  Annie's Story . It has been inspired by this Write on Edge prompt:

This week we asked you to write about a time you or one of your main characters had to repay a debt. The debt can be legal, like sending taxes to the government or paying off a credit card, or it can be something promised in a back room deal, sealed by a handshake more binding than a written contract

I would love to hear from anyone stopping by. Please leave comments and critiques. If you leave a comment, please be sure to leave your website name so I can visit you, too.

Okay, here we go . . .

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“Help me.” The words were hushed, broken. The familiar voice flavored with a sobbing gurgle.

“Where are you? Are you hurt?” I cupped my hand around the phone, whispering while looking over my shoulder. As always, Sarah’s timing was abysmal. Officer Pershall had just stepped out of the room. Not feeling that is was necessary to tell me where she was going, she simply requested that I, “Hang tight.” Typical police procedure meant to keep me on edge.

“Don’t say anything.” Sarah begged.

Given the circumstances, I wasn‘t exactly sure what that meant. “You did this?”

“Annie, stop!” The gurgling became more intense. I could imagine her nose inflamed , the way her shoulders moved rhythmically up and down when she would cry hard. “ I just want you to know I am safe.”

The call disconnected. What did I owe her? I was glad Eddie was dead. I was relieved, almost giddy, to finally know that I would be able to sleep without wondering if I would awaken with the pawn shop gun held to my temple or worse, one of Eddie‘s hunting knives held against my throat. This was his favorite weapon of torture. But what did I owe her?

All my life, I have been indebted to someone or something. Poor money management skills as a young adult taught me the perils of being in debt. Losing my car, having wages garnished to pay back outstanding loans were a hassle, but I never expected these things to keep me from being safe, independent. In hindsight, I realized Eddie wasn’t the only one who placed limitations on me.

But financial debt can be repaid. How do you pay back those debts that have no monetary value? A truly personal debt.

I started to rummage through my received calls to see if I could locate the number Sarah had called from. I didn’t expect to find it. Sarah was smart, as smart as someone on the run can be, she would not allow her number to be traced. She also had money. Money buys anonymity.

Instead, I accidentally hit the icon for my picture files. A bright, happy picture of Kate and Eddie slapped me in the face. A recent picture. Maybe three months ago.

The giddiness melted away. What did I owe Kate? My Kate. The teenage girl so distraught by her father’s death that I had to literally rock her to sleep last night.

Personal debt is a hellish, nightmare where nobody comes out the victor. Where did my loyalties lie? Who would I protect when the storm started to rage out of control?

“Annie?” Officer Pershall startled me causing my hand to jerk, the phone splattering to the floor breaking apart, the SIM card, the battery, the case all dislocating from each other. “Did something happen?”

“Everything is fine.” I scooped up the pieces of my phone and shoved them in my bag, pushing the stray hairs off my face, trying to appear calm.

Pershall studied me, then walked around behind her desk. Sitting down, she picked up a black remote. Without words, she pushed a button and the wall mounted television behind me came to life. On the screen, I saw myself. My hand cupping the phone, my lips moving. Replaying my phone call from minutes earlier.

Pershall paused the image. “Let’s talk.”

 

BLT - Bullshit, Lies and Treachery

Originally posted February 17, 2012

“You ready?” The waitress barked. Hello, my name is Macy said her nametag. A cute, bubbly name that did not fit the big-boned, gum-chewing waitress poised at the end of the table ready to take our order. Scolding my judgment, I snapped the large rubber bracelet around my wrist.

Eddie grinned his toothy smile. The type of smile that pulled you in, gave him his way every time. “Two BLT’s, two cokes and pour a little magic into those glasses.” He handed her a five dollar bill.

Macy stared. He smiled again. “I know Don is working the grills. Saw his truck out back. He‘s the magic man.”

“Whatever,” Macy turned to leave.

“Wait,” I called out. “Can you just bring me a water?”

Eddie wouldn’t allow an answer. He held up his hand, shook his head and motioned for her to scram.

“You don’t like them BLT’s anymore?” He smacked his lips. “Only better ones were down in Louisiana.”

I moved carefully in this verbal boxing ring choosing my words. One wrong word, phrase and I would be up against the ropes. “With the guacamole in the middle? I should never have worn Sarah’s shirt that night. Damn sauce oozed all down the front. I do remember you liked taking it off later.”

I flirted. I hated using sex to manipulate Eddie. Eddie leaned back against the vinyl booth, the pressure of his back causing the small cracks in the vinyl to split just a little more. I wondered when the cracks would become irreparable.

“Good thing ain’t no guacamole here. You sure as shit don’t need that. Starting to look pregnant again. Bad enough I had to see you fat for the real thing. Don’t need you to look like that just for fun.”

I fingered the bracelet. Pulling it back just enough to see the scabby wound, minor compared to other lacerations but more dangerous because Eddie had used a razor. Bitch, I can make this end now, but today is your lucky day.

 

Fat? My body, not to mention my soul, had been starved for so long that I was wasting day by day. Concealer from the cosmetics counter couldn’t hide the deep purple under my eyes. Denied the ability to leave the house whenever I wanted, my skin was pale from lack of sunlight. I spent so much time in darkened rooms because of Eddie’s paranoia that the large sunglasses I wore when I was allowed to leave were sometimes to hide trauma, but also because the sunlight hurt. I had become a vampire devoid of humanity.

 

Evidence

Originally posted at a much earlier date, but I didn't record it. Oops!

Write on Edge asked me to write this week with no restrictions, but to put effort into developing a weakness that I may feel my writing has. This week I chose authenticity. Sometimes, I feel that I write with a flat, unconvincing voice. So, here is my shot at a little authenticity. Also, I thought I would try my hand at a little mystery as well. Feeback is most appreciated! The formatting is being persnickety. Please ignore any weird formatting.

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   "The weapon was recovered,” the woman officer said over the phone. She had told me her name, but I had let it evaporate, unable to absorb one more piece of information.

   The officer paused. Papers shuffled, the computer’s keyboard tapped. “ A Colt 1911. Most likely stolen.”

   Most likely,

my brain repeated.

 

   The gun had been found behind a trash can in a women’s restroom at the Harbor Point Marina. A toddler had found it. Why would Sarah leave it in such an obvious place? And where children could find it? The gun had been emptied leaving the threat minimal, but it didn‘t make sense.

   And the Harbor Point Marina? That is where Eddie and I had our first date. I wondered if Sarah knew, a poetic gesture signaling the end of where it had all began.

   A Friday night, late in the autumn when people were less interested in a mid-western amusement park built on the shores of a man-made lake. That first night had been quiet. The rides were emptied. Eddie joked that he had paid everyone to stay away. He wanted me all to himself, he said as we hovered above the ground in the Ferris wheel. The first clue. But when you are seventeen, in love for the first time, you ignore those warning signal pings.

   “Can you trace it? I returned to the conversation. My active participation was a requirement to avoid suspicion. Although, as the wife of a murdered man I had more than enough motive to kill him. Suspicion would never entirely unwrap itself from me.

   The officer coughed. Her voice was hoarse. The beginnings of a cold. “No serial number. These guns are common. Any pawn shop will have an assortment of these and are unlikely to be of any help.” Again, another pause.

   “Annie, the night Eddie was discovered, the first officers on the scene found something . An unique necklace; strings of black, Tahitian pearls and yellow emeralds. Expensive. Few places sell these. They are easy to track.

    Robert Cavanaugh bought one for his wife, Sarah. Your sister. Robert doesn‘t know where she is. Would your sister have seen your husband that night?”

    I could not answer. Years of experience with on-the-spot lying to cover up and I had nothing. All I knew was that three weeks ago my pawn shop gun disappeared and then Eddie was dead.