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Medusa's Hands

By Monica Mynk

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LARISSA NICKELL tucked a frayed wool blanket over her fifteen-year-old daughter Kelsey’s tiny frame, covering up to her neck. She held her breath, counted to one hundred, and crept to her chain-locked door. The peeling paint caught under her index fingernail as she lifted onto tiptoes to see out the peephole. Her neighbors stood in a semicircle in the dim hallway under the glow of the blinking incandescent light.

The apartment doorbell chimed three times, a pause, and then another, just as it had moments before. Warren. It had to be. But how? Why?

Mrs. Applewood’s screech shot through the quarter-inch crack separating the heavy metal door from the jamb. “Get outta here! Told ya I’d be calling the police if I saw ya poking your nose ’round here. They’s already comin’!”

Footsteps thudded away from her apartment door.

Another door creaked across the hall. Her pulse thundering, Larissa brushed her stringy hair from her eyes and looked out again. Mr. Gaines, with his faded old-school Marine tattoos and Warren, with his wanna-be thug ink, stood ready to face off in a wife-beater tee contest. The elderly man waved a golf club in Warren’s face, his frail frame almost an even match to Warren’s heroin chic. “The lady’s right. You’ve got no business here.”

Larissa wiped her sleeve along her wet cheek. How lucky to have neighbors watch out for her. But this couldn’t go on forever. He’d hurt one of them eventually. Warren could strike viciously, unprovoked, like a pit bull, and she had the scars to prove it. She’d have to talk to him sometime. And she knew what he wanted. Why now, when she was getting ready to graduate beauty school?

She tied her robe sash tighter and stepped barefoot into the hallway, grit and dirt sliding between her toes.

He faced her, his cool gray eyes narrowing then lightening as his features tightened into a smirk.

“Hello, Warren.” Hands on her hips, she formed her best scowl. It didn’t feel near mean enough.

“Larissa.” He dropped to his knees, grabbing at her feet with his needle-tracked arms. “I’m so sorry, love.”

Too late. Did he think her a fool?

“A century of apologies wouldn’t cut it. I told you I never wanted to see you again.” She crossed her terrycloth-covered arms, glancing at Mrs. Applewood, who held a silver candlestick over Warren’s head. “When did they let you go? I thought you had to serve two more years.”

He palmed her calf, the grip so tight she wobbled. “Six months ago, for good behavior, baby. So you spent all my money on this swanky place?”

“I told you, Nelson called the police.” Mrs. Applewood inched the candlestick closer to Warren’s receding hairline. Her husband stepped into the hall with his pistol. No wonder Warren acted so penitent. Without the gun, he’d have pummeled poor Mr. Gaines into the wall, ex-Marine or not.

“Thank you.” Hands on her hips, Larissa glared over her nose at her poor excuse for an ex-husband. She wriggled from his grasp to the right. “Did they let your girlfriend out, too?”

“Please.” Warren tried to stand. Mr. Abrams smacked his shoulder with the golf club, and he dropped back to his knees. “Larissa, I just need the coins. Let me have them, and I’ll leave you alone for good.”

“No.” She clamped her teeth together. “Those coins belong to Kelsey now. For college. Remember? Your daughter? Would you steal from your own child?”

“I have to pay Mac. He’s going to—”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to get yourself thrown in prison.”

Police sirens blared. Warren ducked around the golf club and squeezed his fingers over her arm. “Larissa, you have to help me. He’s going to kill me.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Warren.” She jerked away, willing her tears to stay put. “If he kills you, it’s for the best.”

Pivoting, she reentered the apartment, twisted the deadbolt, and fastened the chain.

Kelsey sat straight, eyes wide, and hands cupping her mouth.

“I’ll be back. You can’t run from me, Larissa.” Warren’s retreating
footsteps pounded the hallway floor moments before the sirens cut short and police doors slammed.

“Kels. Go get that bag out of the closet.”

#

MEGAN CARTER sat in the intersection of Barlow Avenue and Searcy Street, her temples developing a sudden throb. Her mustard-smeared apron lay crumpled in the passenger seat beside her, a handful of coins and cash spilling from the pocket. At least she’d managed to drop her electric payment in the slot before her ten-year-old Sentra stalled out.

She tilted and hid her face, her springy-curled ponytail flattening against the headrest. Grease-spotted leather shoes stretched to the gas and brake pedals. She imagined herself sinking into the floorboard. This was not happening. Not again. Not at the busiest intersection in town.

Abrupt honks and long blares insisted others would like to turn. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried the ignition. Nothing happened. Not even the hint of a click or scrape. She tapped her head against the headrest. Why couldn’t she disappear? When she opened her eyes, Geoff Spencer’s face pressed against the window.

She opened the door a crack. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. It was making this jittery sound while I was idling, and it doesn’t want to respond when I give it gas. And it kind of lurched forward before it stopped.” Her voice cracked. “It’s done this on me four times this week.”

“Bet it’s your spark plugs.” Geoff waved to his truck, which he’d parked on the median. The passenger stepped out, scowling beneath a sandy colored mess of uncombed hair. Zach Allen. Heat overwhelmed her cheeks. Maybe she could pull the carpet over her head and hide under it.

“Okay, Zach and I are going to push you out of the road. You put it in neutral and steer, okay? Think you can do that?”

“Yeah.” She puffed her cheeks, trying to keep her focus on the steering wheel. Zach’s narrowed eyes glared through the rearview mirror. When her glance caught his, he deepened his scowl.

Twenty minutes later, she begrudgingly climbed into Geoff’s truck. Zach squeezed in beside her, keeping his face pressed to the passenger window.

“Want me to have it towed somewhere?” Geoff pulled his cell out of his pocket. “Phil Barrett can fix it for you. He’s trustworthy. Well, you know that.”

Megan hid behind her palms. “I can’t afford to have it fixed right now. I barely have enough to cover my rent.” She jabbed her elbow into Zach’s side.

“If certain people would ever tip…”

Zach grunted. “If certain people would bring the steak sauce when I ask for it.”

“I had two parties. Call me human, but I forgot.”

“That’s no excuse not to tip her, Zach.” Geoff huffed. “I’ll take care of the tow for you.”

“No.” She dragged her fingers over her forehead. Could he not just drop it? The last thing she needed was for Zach Allen to know every embarrassing detail about her life. “You’ve already done too much for me.”

“You can pay me back with free haircuts when you have your own salon.” He winked. “Don’t forget, I’ve got plans for you in the last little corner of the restaurant plaza. Savannah would kill me if I didn’t make a way for you two to work close together.”

Her cheeks warmed again. “That would be awesome.”

He merged into the now-flowing traffic, tipping his cap to an older man who let him in the lane. He signaled left and pointed across the street, where a group of students kicked a soccer ball around in a field. “Can’t believe they’re practicing in all this mud.”

“I know.” She shifted. Dark clouds swirled in a menacing spiral to their south. “Wonder if it’s ever going to stop raining.”

“Weatherman says probably at least another week of heavy rains. We’re headed toward a pretty big flood, I’m afraid.”

When the light changed to green, the truck surged forward, and she braced herself against the dash, her hand landing inches from Zach’s. She drew it back, pressing it into her pilled polyester pants.

“You always smell like steak.” Zach folded his arms.

“I wonder why.” She flicked her gaze to the ceiling then returned it to her lap. Could the five-mile drive take any longer?

Geoff stopped at a crosswalk, letting four college students pass in front of him. A pretty brunette with bushy curls smiled her thanks as she flounced by the truck.

“You should wear your hair down like that.” Zach tugged at one of Megan’s curls.

Megan lunged toward Geoff. “You should mind your business.”

“Behave, you two.” The truck started rolling again, and Geoff eased through the line of traffic, pulling between the two monstrous churches at the intersection leading to Main Street.

“You guys should get married in that one.” She pointed to the Presbyterian building on her right, with its Corinthian columns and arched wooden doors. “It’s so pretty.”

“It’s not our church home.” Geoff tapped the dash, waiting to make the right turn. “Savannah and I have a long history in our church. Didn’t you attend there, too?”

“Yeah. When I was young.”

Zach snorted. “You went to church? You’re mean as a snake.”

She responded with a snort of her own. “I’m not mean to everyone. Only people who treat me bad.”

Geoff found a space in her apartment complex and shut off the truck. Zach didn’t budge.

“Dude.” Geoff reached over her to tap his shoulder. “Let her out.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Stubborn jerk.” Megan lurched for the door handle, slinging it open. She swung her legs up and climbed across Zach to get out, contorting her body in a painfully awkward twist to avoid contact. When her feet landed on the pavement, she grimaced. Her purse rested on the seat beside him, out of her reach.

She grabbed for it as he lifted it high above her head. He leaned out of the truck, balancing his feet on the side step.

Zach dropped to the seat, tossing the purse at her.

Geoff cleared his throat. “Sorry about that, Megan. See you later. I’ll text you about the car when I hear back from Phil.” He gripped the gearshift.

“What are you, Zach, fourteen? Seriously. Give the girl a break.”

She stared after him, open-mouthed, as Zach slammed the truck door closed. No kidding, give her a break. She’d thought things might get better with Zach after she’d driven him home on a drunk night a few weeks ago, but they’d gotten worse. And now she was finishing school and couldn’t work as many shifts as she used to… She didn’t care what Opal said. Next time, somebody else was waiting on his table.

As she closed the distance between the parking lot and her apartment door, her cell rang. Savannah.

“Hello, best friend.” Megan smiled for the first time all day. “Your knight in shining armor saved me.”

“No kidding?” The grin came through in Savannah’s voice. “What’s Mr. White Horse done for you today?”

Megan let herself into the tiny apartment she called home. She kicked off her shoes and placed them neatly in the closet, then hung her apron on a hook by the door. “My car died in the middle of the road again. Can you believe it? Geoff helped me push it out of the street. Him and stupid Zach Allen.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Geoff thinks spark plugs.” The rent notice glared from her kitchen door. “I don’t know for sure. He’s taking it to your dad to be fixed. I told him no, but he didn’t let me have an option.”

“Should have told me.” Savannah clucked her tongue. “Dad won’t charge you anything. Daughter’s-best-friend discount.”

Megan laughed. “Well, tell your dad it’s mine so he doesn’t charge Geoff, then.”

“Truth be told, he’s probably going to make Geoff do half the work. He’s been trying to steal him from the restaurant construction all week.”

Squirting lotion into her hand, Megan eyed her fading wallpaper. “When’s the restaurant ever going to get finished? Geoff promised me I could work there when it opens.”

“There’s probably about four weeks of construction left, and then all the inspections and stuff. I’m excited, though, to see how it all comes together. Did he tell you? It will be pay what you can, and the community garden will supply a lot of the food.”

“He’s told me a few times.” Megan chuckled, dropped to her armchair, and rubbed the lotion on her tired feet. The smell of raspberries filled the room, her mom’s favorite. Misty-eyed, she capped the lotion and set it on the TV tray beside her. “Things are getting pretty serious between you two.”
“Actually, that’s what I called about.” Savannah laughed. “We set a date last night. December 19. A Christmas wedding.”

“Are you kidding?” Megan jumped from her seat. “Awesome! It’s about time.”

“I was hoping you might agree to be my maid of honor.”

“Of course.” Despite her wide smile, a pang struck her heart. She’d probably never get married. Just like her mom, she’d die sad and lonely. She probably wouldn’t even have a daughter to keep her company and take care of her.

“One thing, since you’ve already agreed.” Savannah’s breath drifted through the speaker. “Geoff wants Zach to be his best man. Think you can live with him walking you down the aisle?”

Tears stung Megan’s cheeks. How could she say no? “For you, anything.”

#

ZACH ALLEN stared out the truck window at a beat-up red Chevy in Megan’s apartment lot. He tried to notice every detail—the right-wing sticker on the dash, the rip in the leather seat—anything to keep his mind off her.

“Feel like explaining?” Geoff signaled, raising his eyebrow.

Zach shrugged. “I just get tired of bad service.”

“You go in her restaurant seven nights a week and run her like a crazy person.” Geoff made the left turn, dipping into the gravel. “I’ve seen how you treat her. She can’t even manage her other tables for doing stuff for you. If all you guys tipped her like you should, she’d have plenty to get by. How long are you going to make her pay for something from when you were teenagers?”

“Dunno.” Zach rubbed the window trim until it shone.

“It mystifies me why you keep going back to hang out with those boys anyway. Do you honestly think you can sustain drinking so much every single night until you’re an old man?”

Zach stretched his legs out and bumped his head against the back window. “Not your business.”

“If you’re going to help manage my farm, it is. I don’t want an old drunk handling my important decisions.”

“What else do I have to do besides manage your farm?”

Geoff grinned. “I do have a wedding coming up, bro. Even if I don’t approve of your night activities, you’re still the best friend I have at the moment. So, I was hoping you might fulfill the role of best man.”

“A wedding? You proposed?”

“Last night. And she said yes.”

Zach straightened, scooting his back against the seat. “I guess this means I need to wear a tux.”

“Yep. And maybe wash those stinking feet.” Geoff turned down the narrow side road leading to the farm. “So, Savannah’s planning to ask Megan to be her maid of honor.”

Zach snatched his hat from his head and threw it against his knee. “No way. I’m not walking down the aisle with th—”

“Are you asking me to tell my fiancé she can’t have her dream wedding with her best friend?”

Meeting his scowl in the passenger mirror, Zach took a few breaths. “I hate that stupid girl.”

“Savannah or Megan?”

Zach crossed his arms and slapped his elbows against his chest.

“Suit yourself.” Geoff stopped the truck. “Ride stops here.”

As if punctuating Geoff’s insistence, bulky water droplets pelted the windshield. Zach glanced at Geoff, then the mired road. “You want me to get out? Now?”

“I want you to agree to be my best man and get over who’s a bridesmaid. All you have to do is play nice for two nights—the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Think you can?”

Jerking the handle, Zach lunged into the door and shoved it open. He slid out of the seat and slammed the door shut before stomping toward the trailer Geoff loaned him.

Rain splashed around his feet, cold and wet. It pummeled his head and shoulders, probably leaving dents it struck so hard. Within seconds, his too-long bangs clumped against his forehead, and his plaid flannel shirt stuck to his chest.

He kicked at a loose stone as Geoff’s truck disappeared around a corner. No way was he going to cut that crazy girl any slack. He’d poured his heart and soul out to her time after time, and she crushed it. She was getting what she deserved.

He walked the road along the yellow line like a tightrope, holding his hands out as though he needed balance. A honk sounded behind him, and he stepped aside, imagining the asphalt crumbling under his feet. He followed the curves in the gravel shoulder, occasionally stopping to snap off a protruding branch from the hill on his right. Across the valley to his left loomed the old iron furnace where Geoff found Savannah after she’d been captured. The place still gave him shivers.

Two miles later, when he reached the ten-acre property Geoff deeded to him, his pant legs clung to his boots. He approached the house he’d been building.

Gloppy mud surrounded the brick perimeter. Who knew when they’d be able to pour the concrete for the driveway? Wiping water from his eyes, he let himself inside. The interior lacked a few details—carpeting, painting, installing the cabinets and appliances, and putting down the hardwood floors. But the exterior… If it would ever quit raining, he could finish in a few weeks.

He peered out the window at the dismal gray sky. That was a big if.

A quick pass through to the right side of the house left a trail of mud on the subfloor. He stood in the center of his great room, glanced at the vaulted ceiling, and shook his head. They’d painted the loft rail and completely missed one side of three of the posts. Geoff was right. Those guys he hung around had no ambition. They half-did everything, and he had to go along behind them and redo it. They were no real friends of his.
So, why couldn’t he turn his life in a different direction?

An empty glass bottle taunted him from a plastic bucket in the corner. He knew why. It wasn’t the boys he had trouble turning away from.

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