RED SOX: How do you mend a broken heart? With more wins than losses, that’s how.
FEEDBACK: It’s a good thing p.phair@comcast.net
by
phair
“Knew I should’ve got those ten and a half’s instead of the tens,” Deni thought to herself.
She mentally kicked herself for taking so long to wiggle out of her footwear. Every minute wasted in executing the plan was another minute in the cops’ favor. She could not afford any more delays if she was going to have even a slim chance of taking care of her problem once and for all.
She let the current carry her to the opposite shore and down stream. Riding the churning water maintaining a rag doll appearance, was a difficult task to endure. Breaths came in quick snorts followed by long moments holding air in her lungs before slowly exhaling. However difficult it was, it was nothing when compared with five years of feigning a lame legged gait and simple-minded responses while living in the dankest, most foul pit of Hell.
Deni did take a serious and unplanned smack to the face when she fell into the river. If St. Marie was one second sooner he would have heard her cursing like a sailor. She was fortunate she did not pass out or have a seizure.
“Wouldn’t have to fake drowning then, now would I?” She grimly thought to herself.
It did change her plans a little, because she was going to have to go barefoot.
“Okay, pedicure will be added to my revised agenda. Right after I wring Eugene’s scrawny neck!” The thought of that action alone brightened her mood considerably.
A low hanging branch snagged the sleeve of her jumpsuit. She could still hear shouting from the pier. It would not be safe to just reach out and disentangle the material. She discretely touched bottom with her previously useless leg to give the appearance her body had snagged on submerged debris. As she folded over on herself seeming to be battered by the current, she managed to rip the cloth free of the interfering tree limb.
“Long arm of the law, I guess,” she groused quietly.
The maneuver afforded her a chance to figure out how close she was to a sharp bend in the snaking riverbed. Another hundred or so feet and she would be out of sight for anybody standing on the pier. Letting her body go feet first, she slipped below the raging river’s surface and bobbed out of view.
The curve of the river was a mixed blessing. It afforded Deni full cover from the gathering of prison guards and prisoners and the soon to be arriving emergency responders on the pier. However, the current picked up energy as the river’s course straightened out and the flow broke free.
Deni was once a very proficient swimmer. A state champion during her high school years but that was decades ago. It was a vague detail of a childhood truly almost completely forgotten.
Wrecking the car during her botched escape from the police left her not only captured but with an all too real head injury. While she feigned most of her physical and speech deficits, Deni did lose large chunks of her memory. She also suffered from fierce headaches, which would leave her violently ill. But, the most dangerous squeal of her injury was her occasional seizures. They were so profound she lost consciousness for hours at a time. Fortunately, the seizures were rare. They were usually only brought on by intense emotional stress.
“Good thing pretending to drown while actually escaping from prison isn’t all that stressful,” she mused.
Added to the level of difficulty in the water was her overall physical condition. She was, for lack of a better word, soft. She was not able to really exercise during her incarceration. Feigning a paralyzed leg did not allow her to participate in gym activities or jog on the prison’s track. The most she could do was a thirty-minute exercise routine in her cell late at night. Deni was about to find out if the minimal physical regiment was sufficient to survive body surfing down a short stretch newborn rapids.
“Sailing, sailing,” she hummed while steering her body as best she could with her arms.
Deni pointed her body at the stone buttress of the abandoned railroad overpass several hundred feet ahead of her. The water bounced and sunk her but she kept her aim fairly constant. If she hit the structure full force then she could shatter a bone. She needed to get close enough to snag hold of something stationary without being dashed against the concrete.
“How I’m gonna do that, I got no clue. Yet!” Her mind raced to figure out a solution to her quickly approaching obstacle.
With time running out, Deni finally spotted a slim chance. A broken wood support hung down from the overpass. She just needed to grab it. Risking being seen, Deni raised both arms out of the water. Her body was tossed wildly by the current but she was close enough to her goal that a foot or two to the left or right would not matter too much. At least, that’s what she hoped.
The wood slapped solidly into her right hand. It was as if she was destined to catch it.
“Even the bad guys get lucky some times,” Deni thought as she climbed hand over hand up the length of board.
Deni was able to swing one leg up on the smooth surfaced top of the concrete piling. Keeping a death grip with one hand on the wood board, she grabbed with the other hand for the edge of the steel support column. Several fingernails broke off trying to dig into the impenetrable rusting metal.
“Manicure,” she gasped when she finally hoisted her whole body onto the top of the buttress, “manicure is also a post escape must.”
Deni lay for a few moments to catch her breath. She had to get moving but she was nearly exhausted already.
“Come on, you sat on your ass for five years. If you don’t get moving you’re looking at another seven years of sitting in your own shit.”
The thought made her squirm a bit. Her bottom was cold and heavy. The adult diaper wrapped around her was saturated with river water. She sat up on the concrete and began to strip out of her clothes. She made sure to tear and tatter the orange jump suit as much as she could. Before tossing it back into the raging water, she smeared it with blood from her wounded face. Shoe, socks and bra went into the river next. The last thing she hurled into the raging water was the leg brace.
“Good riddance.”
Deni tore the diaper free and stood up. Taped to her hips were two plastic zip lock bags. Inside one was a white tank top undershirt. The other contained a pair of scrub shorts from the hospital wing of the prison.
The physical therapist found it easier to treat Deni in shorts. Deni found it easy to steal the shorts and hide them inside her freshly cleaned diaper without the therapist even noticing. Of course, crapping in her original diaper first forcing the therapist to change her helped distract the woman immensely.
“Five years of shitting my pants every few days finally pays off,” Deni thought as she kicked the discarded diaper off the piling then pulled on the thin but dry clothes.
She would need to find more suitable attire once she hit the road. However, for now, the shorts and t-shirt were perfect for climbing up to the railroad tracks above her. She caressed the back pocket of the shorts to reassure herself the plastic zip sealed baggie was still hidden there.
“Okay,” she wrung her hands dry against each other, “the sooner I start, the sooner I finish.”
The metal cross bars of the bridge made for a simple scaling of the structure. Not having shoes would increase the challenge but Deni was not about to let the risk of bloody feet stop her. She had endured too much to quit because of a blip in her master plan.
“Of course, it won’t be a blip if I fall to my death,” she thought.
Deni realized immediately her arms were better able to pull her than her legs were to push her. Limping around with a walker initially and then a cane left her arms much stronger than before her injury. Her legs, however, were seriously deficient for the demands she was making of them.
“Personal trainer,” she thought as she pulled herself up onto the abandoned railroad track. “A personal trainer will fix that problem in no time at all.”
Deni did not waste anytime resting out in the open. She made a mad dash to the empty relay office. The padlocked door stood meaningless next to a shattered window. Deni scrambled into the dilapidated structure and hunkered down on the floor.
She listened and waited. Then she waited and listened some more. Wind and light rain were the only sounds filling the air.
“Must be too stormy to get a chopper in the air to look for the body,” she mumbled.
A train whistling in the distance reminded her she was on a very strict schedule. Taking so long to wiggle out of her shoe cost her precious seconds. She had no more time to catch her breath. Deni needed to move.
“This is why they call it on the run, I guess,” she grumbled before resuming her get away.
“How do hobos do this?” Deni thought as she hit the ground next to the passing train.
She had been waiting in the shrubs for the 7:20 to chug along. It was required to reduce its speed approaching the small town a few miles up the road. Deni believed it would be simple to leap up, grab a stair railing on one of the cars, and climb aboard the locomotive. However, the task was much more difficult than she believed it would be.
“Those movies from the fifties made it seem like kids could jump on choo choos steaming on by,” she silently fumed as she scrambled to her feet. “Fuckin’ liberal Hollywood media! Fillin’ our heads with nothin’ but lies, lies, and more lies.”
Deni knew she could not risk waiting for the next train. It was more than an hour down the track. She needed to catch this one. Otherwise, she might as well just turn herself in at the nearest cop shop.
“Well, you honor, it’s like this,” she thought while breaking into a dead run. “I was kinda foolin’ around the last time I saw you. I ain’t really a simpleton. Ain’t really crippled either. Ain’t hardly sorry neither.”
Her feet were beyond painful. Her thighs burned from the strain she was putting on them. Her lungs were begging for more air. Deni dug deep for motivation. She thought of the one thing which could infuriate her to action like no other.
“Eugene! You are a dead man!”
The hissed remarked was followed by a burst of anger-fueled speed. Deni slapped one foot in front of the other at a wild pace. She reached out and touched her last possible chance at a free ride. Her fingertips grazed the metal. The brief contact drove her to try even harder. Her fingers were finally able to wrap around the railing. With a leap of faith, Deni jumped. Her left foot caught the last step. She leaned as far forward as she could and fell bodily against the boarding stairs of the open topped boxcar caboose.
Deni grabbed the ladder and scurried up to the top of the train car. Once at the lip, she tossed herself into the cargo area. Deni landed with a jarring rattle on the thick nylon netting tucked around the load of gravel being hauled north. She lay there motionless in complete exhaustion.
“Not the softest bed I’ve ever been in but it’ll do for a couple of hours,” she thought before drifting off to sleep.
The train was slowing but had not yet come to full stop. Deni was not going to wait. She jumped off and skidded on the gravel fill next to the railroad tracks but managed to remain upright. Keeping low, she scanned the area to make sure nobody was milling around.
“Nothing more lonely than a Tuesday night,” she mumbled after noting the empty station platform and parking area beyond.
Deni was never in Tinsdale, Vermont before but it did not matter. She knew almost ever square inch of the town. Google maps and satellite cams were wonderful inventions. The prison’s speech therapist would sit Deni in front of a computer screen and then go make phone calls during their three times a week, hour long sessions. The guy had no idea Deni could read. He thought she was just pushing buttons.
“There’s one less per diem job you’ll be working, Wilbur,” Deni grinned as she jogged away from the train yard to the adjacent woods, which led directly to a church parking lot.
For the last two years, Deni spent every speech therapy session surfing online maps. She hit sites for nearly every city and town in New England. She never spent more than fifteen minutes on any one map. Anybody checking her computer use would never notice she only cared about one place, one town; Tinsdale, Vermont.
“Deliberately random research, that’s what I always say,” Deni let herself have a little chuckle.
The charity clothing boxes of the United Unitarian Universalists Union on Unification Way were highly organized. Three bins stood side by side by side, into which donors would separate clothing, shoes, and toys. They were conveniently located at the back end of the parking lot so people would not block traffic while organizing donations to make a deposit.
“And, for those of us making unauthorized withdrawals, the strategic location provides excellent cover from the street.”
However, there was no need to be careless at this stage of her escape. It was well after midnight but it was a pleasantly cool late summer night. Folks were known to take strolls around the quiet streets of the little bedroom community on nights such as this. Deni stayed crouched and in the shadows along the tree line as she surveyed the parking lot.
“Not a creature was stirring,” she thought with a grin, “just a dark, lanky felon lurking.”
Deni crept up to the big metal containers. The donation boxes had doors on their backsides for easy emptying. Deni slowly opened the clothing bin with a minimum of noise.
Not only were the people of Tinsdale generous, they were practical as well. Jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts were plentiful. It only took a few minutes to find something to fit her lean and long frame. She almost cried when she found a brand new pair of thick, cotton, white socks.
Finding shoes took a bit longer. Her feet were battered and bloodied. She did not want to squeeze the swollen flesh into her regular size shoe but she also did not want resume her travels with floppy footwear.
“No need to embrace the circus look so early in my career.”
Once she was satisfied her newly acquired wardrobe would not draw unwanted attention, Deni returned her discarded selections to the bins and closed the doors back up. Satisfied everything was left the way she found it, Deni calmly ambled across the church’s parking lot toward the deserted main street.
“Just another townie out for a late night walk,” she thought to herself, “and not an escaped prisoner come to kill her lying, thieving, useless husband.”
The house was just as she imagined: a sprawling monstrosity. It sat on seven or eight acres of woodlands. She could not remember the actual size of the lot. The white Mc-mansion with grotesque gold trimming, surrounded by pristine maple syrup producing trees stood out as a perfectly sick symptom of a tasteless society.
Deni knew the back door would be unlocked. That is just how the people of Tinsdale lived. They did not know a man living is their midst was a dangerous criminal. They believed men like Eugene Hussey prowled around big cities like Boston before they were finally caught by diligent and resourceful law enforcement authorities and imprisoned until reformed. The good people of Tinsdale thought they were safely away from the violence and crime of the urban world. However, they were very wrong.
“Crime travels, baby. Evil enjoys vacation time in the peaceful countryside too.”
The predawn darkness was broken by a light flashing to life in the kitchen of the spacious house. Deni shrunk further back into the shadows. She waited to see what the occupants would do next.
“Let’s hope there’s no dog to let out,” it was one variable Deni was unable to research to a satisfactory conclusion.
The back door opened and a cat wandered out of the halo of light. A screen banged closed but there was no sound of the heavy entryway door shutting after it.
“Almost an invitation to come on in,” Deni thought.
Deni hurried across the rolling lawn. She slid up beside the wall near the back door and settled down on her haunches. The murmur of a radio underscored the sounds of breakfast being prepared.
Deni stood and took a deep breath to calm herself before executing the final stage of her plan. She peered around the doorframe to see what there was to be seen. A woman dressed in pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt stood at the stove scrambling eggs. The woman was thin and appeared delicate in the baggy clothing. She would be easy to subdue. The fact Deni was looking forward to subduing her was an added bonus.
Deni opened the screen just enough to slip inside. She let the door rest against her shoulders while she studied the woman across the kitchen. Waiting for just the right moment, Deni licked her lips with anticipation. As the woman reached forward to shut off the stove’s burn, Deni kicked the screen back and let it slam shut.
The woman yelped. Her frying pan went flying before it fell to the floor. The blond, clutching one hand with the other, turned to face Deni. All her confusion at the unexpected arrival was present in her expression during that fleeting moment and then she pulled her suburban hospitality into place.
“I’m sorry, I think you’re in the wrong house,” she stammered. “Are you looking for the Irizar’s? They’re just down the road.”
Deni shook her head, “No, I’m looking for Eugene.”
“Who?” The woman’s confusion returned full force. “I don’t know any Eugene. Nobody who lives around here anyway.”
“You sure ‘bout that, Sawyer?” Deni pursed her lips, “I don’t think you should lie to me. I don’t much like it when people lie to me. You lying to me, Sawyer?”
“I don’t know what…I mean…what are you talking about? Wait, how do you know my name?” The woman managed to gather her wits enough to step away from the stove and toward the hallway leading to the stairs. “I’m sorry but you’re scaring me. I think you should leave right now.”
Deni gave a smug grin. “You thinking you can get upstairs and lock yourself in the panic room before I can reach you?”
“Panic room? What are you talking about? Look, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. You just need to leave and right now or I’m going to call…,”
“Who ya gonna call? Huh? Who? Wait. I should say, how you gonna call after I finish snapping off all your fingers?”
The woman bolted. Deni saw the move seconds before the woman even realized she was going to try to run. In three strides, Deni tackled her and they slammed down to the highly polished, hard wood floor. Deni made sure the woman carried the brunt of their weight on impact. After pitiful moan and slight tremor, the woman was still.
Deni got to her feet and began searching the kitchen’s drawers and cabinets. She found a roll of duct tape under the sink.
“My, how very organized of you, Sawyer,” Deni said as she returned to the rousing woman lying on the floor.
Deni dropped to her knees to straddle the woman’s petite ass. She gave a short tisking sound as she made herself comfortable.
“Must be Irish, no butt to speak of.”
The woman groaned when Deni pulled her arms behind her back. Several quick tugs of the tape and her wrists were secured. The tightness of the restriction must have struck a self-preservation response because the woman bucked awake.
“No, don’t,” she sounded ready to cry.
Deni snatched a fistful of soft yellow hair and hissed in a hot pink ear, “If you scream, I’ll stuff my underpants in your mouth and tape it shut for the duration of my visit. Got me?”
The woman nodded with a whimper.
“Good. Now, Sawyer, we are going upstairs together. Where is Eugene? Is he still in bed? Anybody else in the house I need to know about? Tell me or they’re dead when I find them.”
“Nobody. I’m alone,” Sawyer whispered. “I don’t know any Eugene. I swear I don’t know anybody by that name.”
“Oh,” Deni’s tone was patient, “that would be the wrong answer, Sawyer.”
Deni rose to her knees before flipping the bound woman onto her back. Without missing a beat, Deni slapped the creamy soft, tear streaked face. The woman cried out and Deni slapped her harder.
“Let’s try again. Where is Eugene?”
Sawyer cringed before answering. “Please don’t hit me anymore. I’m not lying to you. I don’t know any Eugene.” A slap interrupted her briefly. “I swear I don’t know what you are talking about. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you want.”
Deni laughed out loud. She settled her bottom down on top of Sawyer and grinned. Slowly, she ground her pelvis against the woman beneath her.
“Be careful when you say ‘anything’ to me. It opens the door of possibility much wider than you’d believe. I’ve been in prison for a very long time. I can think of a lot of ‘anythings’ I haven’t gotten to do lately.”
Sawyer closed her eyes. Her lips were moving but no words were spoken. Deni realized the woman was praying.
“Okay, now you’re just pissing me off,” Deni said with a growl.
She grabbed the woman by the shirtfront, sat her up, and punched her right in the mouth. Blood sprayed skyward as the Sawyer’s head snapped back. Deni watched in morbid fascination while the woman struggled to maintain consciousness. Once Deni saw Sawyer give her a hesitant sideward glance, Deni popped her again. This time Sawyer was out cold.
