Once I had the bathroom door closed and locked I removed my bandages, looking down as I did so as not to see my reflection in the mirror. There was some hydrogen peroxide in the medicine chest, and poured it in the open wound as I leaned over the sink.
Whilst clutching the edge of the basin to brace against the startling pain, I saw the peroxide’s foam swirling down the drain tinged with streaks of yellow. I could feel and hear the peroxide fizzing and popping on and in my face as I kept pouring until the foam finally drained a steady pink.
I found a box of sanitary napkins and a roll of duct tape under the sink. Sanitary napkins made pretty good street dressings, sterile and absorbent: I remembered once back in Oakland, watching a guy use a tampon from his girlfriend’s purse to plug a sucking chest wound in his partner, sticking it into the bullet hole.
I took out the napkins and tape, forcing myself to look at the wound for as long as it took to cover it up. The napkin deodorant’s daisy fresh scent was a little overwhelming at first.
When I was done, I took a little longer to make sure nothing showed but the undamaged portion of my plug ugly mug. I’d never been the kind of guy who was always eying his own image in reflective surfaces, but I figured me and mirrors weren’t going to be on particularly friendly terms for a while, maybe for good.
I opened the bathroom door to find my clothes on the floor outside, clean and neatly folded. There were still stains on them pre-wash would never take out, and they were pretty ragged. It looked like I was trying to make some kind of goofy fashion statement.
When I came out Natalie took one look at me and snorted, and then laughter flowed joyously through her large shapely frame. But she quickly stopped, appearing guilty.
“You look like you have a patchwork quilt wrapped around your head,” she said, as if defensively. “That’s a very creative use of feminine hygiene products.”
I smiled as if I’d cracked a deliberate joke to make her laugh. I wasn’t too proud to be this beautiful young thing’s buffoon if she’d allow it.
Her gaze dropped to my raggedy clothes. “I almost gave you one of Wayne’s shirts to wear, but I thought that would be inappropriate.”
“You figured right,” I said. “Look, I’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough – and your mercy.”
“What makes you think you’re a guest?” she asked. “Last I heard Big Moe hadn’t given you permission to go.”
There was a knock on the door. Natalie scowled and picked up the butcher knife from the coffee table as I took a wary step backward. Her hips rolled as she stepped to the door and put up the security chain before opening it a crack.
One of the crew I’d seen in my delirium stood there. “You got a smoke?” he asked Natalie – but he stared past her at me.
Natalie pulled her pack of cigarettes from her blouse pocket, put one in her mouth, and sparked it with her butane lighter. “Not for you, Leo,” she said, shutting the door in his face.
“Leo and Wayne were partners,” she said, catching my look. “He got Wayne into boosting car stereos, got him into doing drugs and staying out all night. Wayne was a big boy, but I think if it weren’t for Leo, my man would be here with me instead of on a slab at the coroner’s office.”
She sucked at her smoke, then held it between extended fingers with her palm up and exposed. “Wayne was never any good, but he was so pretty. I guess I always hoped he’d just want to be with me, and that we could just be happy together. Is that so much to ask of anyone?”
Natalie chuckled unpleasantly. “He always liked those action movies – you know, the kind where the hero beats up all the bad guys and saves everyone?”
She stubbed out her cigarette in a handy ashtray. “In the end Wayne got to star in his own movie, only he was the bad guy, and you were the good guy.” There might have been a note of irony in her voice, referring to me as good.
“Yeah, Wayne made his own bed to lie in all right,” she said. “And now I’m the one left to make my own choices, for me and my boy.”
Her eyes flashed at me. “At first I let you live just because my brother Moe said so, he’s always got good reasons even if I don’t always like ‘em. But I had to look at your face hour after hour while you were out, not able to do what I wanted to most. You talked some while you were in that delirium, you remember any of that? Angela – I’m guessing she was your wife.
“Still, Moe finally wasn’t enough – I had to do some praying on it cuz I needed God to tell me not do. I come to believe it’s a miracle you saved those kids and survived; it’s a miracle Big Moe convinced me to spare your life, and it’s another miracle I managed to do so.
“I’m not about to forgive you anytime soon. But I believe God has some purpose for you, else you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Yeah, well, if this is a purpose I’m having a hard time seeing it,” I said. “God’s a fool if he’s working through the likes of me.”
“Are you disrespecting the Lord in my house, Markus?” she asked, voice stern and eyes ablaze.
I back-pedaled fast. “No ma’am.”
“God is watching out for you, Markus, and you’re the fool if you think you can thwart his will. You weren’t alone that day at the school and, when the time comes, you’ll know what he wants you to do next.”
As I opened her front door and stepped out on the stoop, she said, “The couch is yours until Big Moe says otherwise.”