All The Nice & Lovely Things

2 - Crazy?! No No No...

Chapter Two

Crazy?! No No No...

She’d believed once that the town’s people would have gladly murdered her.

Walking to the Jeep felt like she was walking in jelly.  Every step brought her closer to the blind reaches of the trees, but also closer to the safety of steel bodywork.  She held the key ready, to act as weapon if need be, and swung her head, panicked that she might be surprised.  Snap.  Cracked a knuckle.  The stress Graves had brought hadn’t left her; vigilance could be key, even if not needed, even if she were safe right now.  She rejoiced that she was wearing only one layer.  The sun was gloriously humid, clogged in cloud moisture as it drove through the leaves, tinted to green as it hit her face, its hottest for the day.

The driver’s door was open before she knew she had the key inside, and she was locked away from the trees as quick as she could.  She gave the boathouse one last look, weirdly determined that when she returned it would surely be broken into, but she’d set the alarm to its most mistrustful setting; if a bird decided to have stomach cramps on the roof, the authorities would hear.

Double-pumped and slid the beast into first, and was out in the finger-width laneway before she let the revs reach loud.  She’d learned how to drive on this very Jeep, two years ago, when she’d come to Gnash on a autumn holiday.  That was the only thing she remembered fondly of the uncle; he’d taught her how to drive extremely well, inherited none of his bad habits, born on a seat belt.  An exquisite import, a hematite Range Rover Sport, completely ready to take on the rural bogs of the Vegas Strip ravines, yet its sump and oil pick-up were wasted on teasing back roads and popped potholes.  A car with an erection for foul play.  Floor mats in yellow and pink neutered the animal, and Hello Kitty got a good look up her skirt every time she took to the wheel.  Decorative umbrellas from ice-cream stands and virgin cocktails hung from the sunroof dial.

She’d believed once that the town’s people would have gladly murdered her.  Her life had reverted to normal after their last knock at her door – quickly, expertly, she’d made it happen - and that the husbands, fathers, brothers and sons were still intent to see her over the town border, or buried somewhere within. 

She fed off the paranoia now; it kept her safe, and she found herself dreading the day her suspicion would slack.  That would be the day she’d be killed.  Vigilance was key.

Be safe.

Be wise.  She couldn’t make herself believe that this was nothing.  That that phone call had been nothing.  That the priest was overreacting.  That she might be in a lot of trouble.  That there had been nothing outside her kitchen window.  The call came rushing back at her and she yanked an imaginary phone away from her ear, punching it off, turning the TV up.  The taste of stress.  She was about to undergo torture to the fullest; she didn’t need this.

She'd have to worry about it when the town beat the door down.

Yanked on a pair of sunglasses and pulled the visor down.  Any obstruction to vision was lethal.  Cliffs could kill you just as easily as townsfolk could.   She checked the dash clock.  Ten minutes to make a twenty minute drive.  She bent an ankle and broke the speed limit, knowing one way or another, the police would probably be seeing her home tonight.  She ducked a crest, punched the counter when she took in the empty straight to town.  Gnash was good for breaking dawdling.  A traffic light brought her to a stop for a moment and she halted, impatient, using this time to fix her face in the mirror; she’d pretty much just pillowed her head into her make-up bag before exiting the house.  Smoke on the eyes, bare lips.  Pretty.  Vain, she was, but she knew how hideous she was on the inside.  Fair trade.  She darted a CD in and wound hair into a low ponytail, checking both mirrors before taking off again.