Читать книгу Visiting Darkness - Celeste Prater - Страница 6

Chapter 1

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Hands gripping the countertop and stare fixed inside the half-filled sink, Mary tracked the outward spreading ripples marring the water’s surface.

Just as well, she thought. It skewed the features, which sat fine by her. The perfect disturbance made it much easier to forget obvious dark circles under tired blue eyes, pale complexion, and unruly eyebrows appearing as upside-down smiles no matter how artful the pluck.

A sigh of building resignation left her throat while pushing aside the bangs sticking to her forehead, happy at least the deep-brown hair showed no sign of gray, yet morose it wasn’t as shiny anymore. Neither was the length. She lopped it off four years ago in a convincing tirade to increase efficiency.

“Yeah, a better word than lazy any day of the week,” she muttered.

Why bother styling when she had no plans to slap on any makeup. This was who she was now, nothing like before. Sharp throbs stabbing the base of her skull started up again.

Startled at the sound of the sugar bowl toppling over—again, she twisted to catch whichever little monster disobeyed the adamant request to leave it the hell alone. A curse stung her tongue as her flabby gut knocked over freshly poured coffee and swept a pretty dishtowel her mother sent last spring to the floor. Disgust gurgled in her chest as the brown liquid soaked into pristine yellow material. Sadness sunk in deep. It was the last of the set not falling victim to jelly stains, ketchup, or grubby little fingers.

Damn. Why is everything around me turning so ugly?

Sight of thick thighs and fat knees above the mess ranked a sincere apology to her former lean body trapped inside. Yet nine years and three kids later, she considered the extra padding as protective gear. The layers crept up on her unsuspecting form during each pregnancy and refused to let go after every birth. She shrugged, unable to muster strength enough to give a rat’s ass. At least it made her boobs look bigger.

Gotta find the good in the bad, right?

A derisive snort scratched through her throat.

Yeah, right. Gravity’s laughing its ass off right about now. Keep deluding yourself. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

She reached up and tightened her bra straps.

A spoon clattered to the floor and slid up next to her little toe, one soggy Cheerio still clinging in desperation to the metal. A harsh version of her eight-year-old son’s name slid to a stop as she looked up to find his father sweeping into the room and catching all three kids’ instant attention. Within seconds, they crawled all over him with ear-piercing screams of, “Daddy,” as he let them hang on his arms like monkeys.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, she experienced a wave of regret capturing her tired body. They never yelled out for Mommy with enthusiastic joy, anymore. He was the fun one. Not her.

They hate you. Shut up. Just shut the hell up.

Mary fought against helplessness trying to sink a few claws and forced her focus on the love of her life.

Without doubt, Jason’s presence commanded a room now. He’d been a skinny little shit in grade school when they’d first met, began a delicious fill of his frame during high school, and formed into the now present beefy, muscle-packed Adonis built from manual labor down at the plant. Tanned skin and a gorgeous mane of brownish-gold hair looking wind-tossed perfect brought a sigh of appreciation. He only got better with age.

You don’t match anymore.

Head shaking at the random thought, a prickle of anger worked its way through her chest.

So unfair. Why can’t the man be the one trashing his body to hell and back while bringing new lives into the world?

She craved rocking a pair of low-cut jeans instead of the ugly black shorts always grabbed on the most ardent water-retention day. A loose waist and ability to cover what she teased as hail-damaged thighs became their one true draw for continued use.

Forced to look away from Jason’s gunmetal-gray eyes and handsome face before the building rage consumed every thought, Mary chewed on her bottom lip to divert the internal pain.

Whatever. It is what it is.

She flipped the errant spoon into the sink, retrieved the ruined dishtowel, and slapped the soggy mess on top of the table. On a long breath with no intention of hanging around in her lungs any longer, Mary pushed the sugar mound closer to the ridiculous amount of milk the tiny devils spilled from their cereal bowls during a mock battle on the high seas.

Negative into a positive, Mary. No use crying over spilt—Jason’s kiss to her left temple, quick squeeze on the right butt cheek, and husky voice broke her thoughts.

“Morning, babe. Whoa. You look tired. Rough night?”

She stared at the sugar soaking up rapid spreading liquid and nodded.

“Maybe. Think I got up a few times, but nothing major.”

“Try to catch a nap this afternoon, if you can,” he suggested in a sweet tone.

She suppressed a snort.

Not going to happen and not enough hours in the day to make an impact.

“Hey, I’m going to the grocery store after I drop off the kids. Need anything?”

“Thought you went Monday?”

“I did. Forgot a few things.” She glanced up as he planted their rambunctious five-, seven-, and eight-year-olds back on their chairs. They always stayed put for him without need of a hairy eyeball toss or verbal threat. Full smiles and perfect behavior presented a happy family portrait.

Guess it’s a guy thing. Three boys. Geez, when did I piss off the fertility gods?

“Nivea.”

“Huh?”

“Grab me some hand lotion,” he said while flashing a gorgeous smile. “The good kind. My cuticles are cracking. Hate that shit.”

“Oh sure.”

He chuckled and jangled his keys. “I’m running late. Couldn’t find these stupid things. Knew I lost my damn mind when I found them on the closet floor, of all places. Weird, huh?”

“Yeah, weird,” she muttered. Mary handed over his lunchbox, accepted the quick peck on the forehead, and caught familiar words thrown over his shoulder as he shoved out the front door.

“Overtime again tonight. Have dinner ready at five. Need to leave by six. Love you.”

He was gone before, “You too,” hit the air. Mary turned back to the table and steeled herself for the inevitable. Daddy’s departure signaled return of complete and utter chaos. Too tired to raise her voice, she stuffed a lunch sack into each backpack and hustled the brood out the door.

Four steps away from the minivan, Mary caught sight of the newlyweds deciding to make the cul-de-sac their home last weekend. Anna Beth and Daniel Burns. Yoga instructor and the new high school football coach respectively.

What a gorgeous, perfectly matched couple. Even their blond hair’s the same color.

While returning their animated wave, she wondered if they’d already screwed in every room and on every piece of furniture like she and Jason had done when they were young and eagerly staking claim to their new home. She frowned.

Good grief. Thirty’s not old, you moron.

Halted in her tracks, she fought a sudden urge to run across the street, snatch Anna Beth by enviable, toned upper arms, and pass a bit of wisdom—don’t have your first one nine months in. It changes you.

“Mom!”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Mary crawled up on the seat, confirmed the little heathens remained buckled in, and began the usual morning mind chant while backing out of the drive.

Two blocks. Piece of cake. Just focus.

Too many late nights watching Forensic Files led her and Jason to agree the kids would never walk to school. There were too many freaky people out there these days. It wasn’t like when they were little. God, she missed those easy times. Memories of riding her Schwinn along winding paved roads, sun warming her shoulders, and soft breeze whipping through unbound hair as she learned every nook and cranny of her peaceful neighborhood lifted her mood. The pleasant smile morphed into a smirk.

Nowadays, most kids stayed inside to play video games or wreck their rooms. A good parent never trusted leaving them in the backyard for fear of discovering them snatched by some sick pervert. She shivered at the thought.

Ecstatic to find an open slot at the curb in front of the school, Mary didn’t bother turning up a cheek for a kiss. The oldest stopped years ago, and adoring younger brothers soon mimicked his actions. As the last door slammed shut, she continued staring at the dashboard’s digital clock clicking away precious time, performing a mental calculation of how many hours remained before the noise came back and drove into the base of her skull like an icepick.

Brow creasing on a steady crunch, she mumbled, “When did I lose control of them? They were so goddamn cute when they were little.” It had been so easy to haul them around in their car seats. Now their sweet little pudgy fingers grew long enough to ball up and bash the crap out of each other or flip a seat belt to fly all over the car. She knew she shouldn’t let them off the hook but running into a guardrail to keep them from killing each other wasn’t on her agenda anytime soon. Jason still wouldn’t let her live the mistake down. He teased, but it still hurt.

Startled at a car horn’s insistent demand to move her ass out of the primo spot, Mary pulled away from the curb and gave an apologetic wave toward a brown sedan idling in the street behind her. Hell, even the headlights looked angry. She fully understood the grinding need to turn your kids over to someone else for a while. Far be it for her to deny relief for another harried parent.

One block down and a quick left brought her into the Bagwell Grocery Mart parking lot. She clued to the huge mistake when facing a wall of parked cars.

Shit. Wednesday coupon day. Stupid move, dumb butt.

A glance at her clothes brought a thought of turning around, yet her foot pressed the accelerator anyway.

No one gives a shit what you look like, Mary. Get in, get out, and get gone. Grow a pair. You’re such a damn sap!

Forced to park out in the north forty where all the wayward grocery carts seemed to congregate, Mary grabbed the first one, cursed, and sifted through several more before finding wheels dancing to the same tune. Frustration set in as continuous rubbing thighs pulled the clingy shorts material higher between her legs with each step.

Pissed, she glanced around, grabbed a fistful of wayward cloth when seeing no one in the near vicinity, and yanked. She repeated the embarrassing move three more times before reaching the front doors. A nagging, unwanted thought struck her brain.

Maybe I should take up Audrey’s offer to work out with her at ten before this damn pudge gets any worse. I’ll miss The Price Is Right, but what the hell? She grunted and shook her head. Why bother? You’ll just eat it right back on.

Cart used as a battering ram, as much as a shield, to push through the cluster fuck of bodies trying to save a dime, Mary battled her way to the lotion aisle. After an eye roll at the silly woman still in her house shoes and scrounging around on the bottom shelf for the cheap stuff, she stared at the dark-blue Nivea bottle for a few beats.

Well, look at this shit, will you?

It mocked her with the sleek curved side resembling a woman’s shapely hip.

Why is Jason so concerned about his fingers all the sudden? Does he want to make sure they’re soft as he runs them over his mistress’s flawless skin?

Gut clenching, Mary backed up and muttered, “Fuck him. He can buy his own shit.”

Frown owning her brow, she experienced a round of dizziness as the jostling crowd of unfamiliar bodies continued brushing against hers.

“What was I going to pick up?”

She flinched at another unyielding elbow shove.

“Oh yeah.”

Two aisles over, Mary grabbed a bottle of bleach and package of yellow gloves, still stumped as to why the men in her life couldn’t seem to aim their damn piss inside the toilet bowl.

Maybe it’s some type of innate drive to flop their dicks around and mark their territory, she mused.

Laughter erupted from her throat as a vivid image slammed into her frontal lobe. She hovered her naked ass over Jason’s favorite boots and dribbled a little stream of pee down the side before he jumped from the shower and lit out the door to God knows where.

I have every right to mark my territory too, damn it!

Her shoulders slumped, the imagined victory short-lived and leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Does he think I’m stupid? He claimed his department on forced overtime for four days in a row now, but Audrey’s husband worked the same shift. Whenever she called to chitchat, she could hear Lou’s deep voice somewhere in the background. He was with his family, so where the hell was Jason? A plan hatched to follow him, but the hassle of loading the kids up and enduring their nonstop questions and never-ending battles tempered the burning need. Attempts to relax a few muscles failed.

Get a grip and quit finding problems where there is none.

The marathon battle across five more aisles destroyed all progress toward a happy attitude. With growing intent, she snatched a carton of Blue Bell ice cream and children’s cold medicine. The kids would be in bed by seven even if she had to drug their little butts.

Focused on the ten items or less checkout line, Mary’s ribs slammed against the cart handle. Stunned at the aggressive move by a tall blond flying out of the makeup aisle, she stood her ground despite the throbbing pain. The idiot with perfect hair, flat belly, and clothes not found hanging on a rack at Walmart didn’t even bother to shoot over an apologetic look as she continued scraping the buggy along the side of her own.

She acts as if I don’t even exist. What a bitch!

The nitwit glided up to the grinning checkout dude more than eager to serve her—Daryl to be exact, if his nametag was correct.

Eyes narrowed into thin slits, Mary studied the woman unloading four individual wrapped prime cuts of beef, frozen broccoli, expensive shampoo, conditioner, eyeliner, mascara, nail polish, styling gel, and a People magazine.

Oh, hell no. Way over the limit.

She surged forward and then bit her tongue.

Screw it. I could be back in the car by time I make a point. Another time. Another place.

Even the delightful image of the asshole’s bleeding body rolling under the van tires couldn’t stop the swell of anger heating her face.

Little Miss Privileged using her looks to get ahead in life. Typical. It flies by fast, honey. Let me toss a little advice, you blond bimbo. Better start learning some manners to go with your future wrinkled face.

Still fuming, Mary saw the smitten boy eyeballing the woman’s tight ass as she leaned over to place the two bags into her cart. The fumbling shove of her own meager four items across the scanner came with no direct eye contact afforded prissy bitch. She gained surprise when he looked over to throw out monotone, rehearsed lines of bullshit more than obvious he repeated day in and day out until they no longer connected to his brain.

“Did you notice our savings day bonanza signs? Tomatoes are on special this week. Everything’s fresh at Bagwell’s Market. You owe twenty-four, eighty-eight.”

The kid slumped against the register, bored expression in place while waiting for a card to slide through a slot or some cash to drop on the rubber conveyer so he could push her out of his life. The highlight of his bleak existence had just occurred, so it was all downhill from this point.

Brow cocked in indignation at the attitude, Mary knew he didn’t give a shit if she had an opportunity at fresh produce. Might even piss him off if she acted delighted and made him wait while she browsed around and found one perfect tomato to bring back to the register. She couldn’t stop the low, husky growl erupting as he repeated the register total to hurry her along to oblivion. Her neck heated.

Hey, you asked. Don’t get your boxers in a wad because I gave it some thought, mister.

Lips tight in anger, Mary opened the Louise Vuitton knockoff purse her sister gifted two Christmas’s ago and looked inside. Mouth parting in surprise, every bit of angst seeped out of her pores, leaving her feeling light and invigorated. The dull throb owning the base of her skull winked out. Gone. Muscles relaxed for the first time since walking out of the hospital eight years ago while clutching a wailing infant in shaking arms. The sublime sensation was foreign yet craved—like taking a huge gulp of air after being underwater for too long. She grinned at her discovery.

Oh, I remember you. How’d you get in there?

Daryl made a point of clearing his throat on an exaggerated grind. “Hey, lady. Are you planning to pay or what?”

She narrowed her eyes. A persistent clock ticking down until time to pick up the hellions, the milk-soaked sugar she left behind, dirty dishes waiting in the sink, and her damn underwear stuck up the crack of her ass didn’t seem so important anymore. Everything clicked into place, and she reached inside for the one thing which never judged or mocked.

Mary Galesh lifted the Glock 19 out of the open maw of a purse smelling of chewing gum, Pepto-Bismol, and the menthol cigarettes she hid from her husband over the last year. The weapon felt good in her hand—heavy and powerful. Racking back the slide, she sensed a burst of adrenaline rushing through every vein as eager ears caught the familiar sound of a bullet chambering, energizing her.

Face lifting to present an exuberant smile, she pointed the business end at Daryl’s belly and popped a round into the little white button positioned just above his belt buckle, visualizing the projectile tearing through the lower bowel and shattering his spinal column. Long, tanned fingers laced over the gushing wound, not helping one damn bit. The shit was coming out whether he liked it or not.

Gaze flicking up to confused brown eyes, she winked and whispered for his ears only, “Hell yeah, I can see it. Now you’re realizing what the fuck was standing in front of you this whole time. Aren’t you, buddy?”