A collection of interrelated short stories
Red Sky
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Linda Benton stepped from the kitchen onto the concrete square at her back door. Such a beautiful sunset, if a touch red. Surprising, with the light rain that had fallen, but those dark clouds were moving in fast from the east. There’d be more rain tonight.
She waved to her neighbor Marie, who carried a garbage bag to the tin can. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Marie glanced up, hardly long enough to fully appreciate it. “Yes, but too red, like…” She blanched, and slammed the lid on the battered can.
Poor thing. Linda knew what she was going to say. Like blood. Something Marie had to deal with too often, if the shrieks echoing across the driveways were any indication. Marie hurried back inside.
“Oh, dear.” Linda’s heart ached for the woman. Bruises appeared regularly on Marie’s face and arms, imprints of fingers clenched like vise grips. Once, she’d urged police to interrupt them, and the house went eerily silent after their visit. Bud glared at Linda at every opportunity. Every time Linda approached the subject, Marie begged her not to do it again, to forget about it, and then made an excuse to run inside.
Linda couldn’t forget. She didn’t blame the woman for her fears. Her husband, a burly man, had the temperament of a junk yard mongrel.
Speak of the devil. Bud’s pickup loomed behind Marie’s old compact car, stopping inches from it. Linda opened her mouth to ask why he had to crowd his wife so, then thought better of it. There was no talking to the man.
And there was no helping a wife who refused it, but again, she couldn’t fault Marie. She’d never have allowed any man to treat her that way, but Marie had obviously put up with it for too long. Bud acted like he owned her. If Marie escaped, he’d likely track her down, and who knew what might happen then. Protection From Abuse orders made flimsy shields against fists. Or worse.
Better get back to making dinner. Jim would be hungry, though he complained only through good natured teasing. After June, she’d have time to attend the cooking classes she’d signed up for and prepare some dishes they could both look forward to. One of the perks of retirement, scary as the notion was. She didn’t want to become one of those old people, sitting in front of their televisions day and night, never stepping outside. Too many people in this town locked themselves away from life. She intended to make the most of every moment they had left.
At the kitchen sink, she reached for the faucet knob. “What on earth…”
A hulking figure slid behind the pickup like a shadow. She’d have thought it a dog except it was too large. Much too large.
The hairs on Linda’s nape stood on alert. Something about its silence, the way it slunk along with an air of purpose, struck at her heart. Death coming already? No, it was too soon, much too soon. She and Jim had plans. No one would rob them of their last moments. Please let it be too soon.
It had to be something else. She strained for another glimpse; she’d only managed the briefest look at it, what looked like brown-black fur, the tail end of some animal with thick, long legs. A bear? Yes, it has to be, you goose. Had it come foraging for food, attracted by the garbage container? Whatever it was kept out of sight. For long minutes, she watched, her stilled breath out of synch with her thumping heart. Nothing stirred except the breeze through the half-opened window. It had turned cold, and sent brown leaves skittering, a reminder that winter would arrive all too soon.
Then the yelling started again. She was almost grateful for the interruption. One of these days, she’d call the police on Bud. Maybe they’d do Marie a favor and shoot him. If any animal had truly ventured past, Bud’s roaring would frighten it away.