Something to Die For by Kaye Blue

Twenty-One

Lucas

“Angel! Wait!”

She paid me no attention and walked into the house.

“Mama?”

I’d never heard her voice sound quite like that.

There was a gentleness in it, a clear affection.

And worry—worry that she seemed intent on not heeding.

I went up the porch stairs quickly, barely paying attention to the swing off to one side or the welcome mat with sunflowers painted on it, and instead went directly into the house.

The smell was faint, almost faint enough that you would miss it.

I didn’t.

It was death, a smell you could never quite get out of your head once you’d experienced it.

Angel should have recognized it too, probably did, but just as she had ignored me, she seemed to be ignoring the smell.

“Mama!” she called, her voice higher pitched, more urgent.

Then I heard that sound, the grunted moan that was now becoming so familiar, then heard another.

My blood ran cold at it.

The sound was muffled, but I still recognized it.

“Mama!” Angel called, going deeper into the house.

I reached her, wrapped my hand around her elbow.

She didn’t look back at me, didn’t even acknowledge me, just wrenched her arm away and pushed open a door.

The smell that had been so faint was overwhelming here, strong enough that Angel stopped, put an arm over her mouth.

Dropped it just as quickly.

“Mama?” she said.

Her voice was low, but it still got the attention of the thing that had been bumbling around the bedroom.

I’d seen it from the corner of my eye, but looked at it now, saw what had once been a woman, petite, in her late sixties or early seventies, skin that I could imagine once having looked like Angel’s but was now gray with death, eyes milky white.

“Mama…”

The thing went toward Angel, moving as fast as it could, the floral housecoat tangling its legs, but not slowing it very much.

I grabbed Angel, but she again wrenched out of my grip and then pushed the thing away as it lunged for her, teeth snapping.

“Ma,” she said, her voice quiet, the heartbreak no less potent.

The thing lunged at her again, and Angel pushed it back.

It went to move again, and I stepped toward it, but Angel stopped me.

“No,” she said, her face wet with tears but her voice clear.

Angel pushed the thing back again, stared at it, her gaze never leaving it.

“Mama, are you in there?” she asked.

Her voice was so hopeful but at the same time resigned. The sound broke the heart I had forgotten I had.

She pushed the thing back, harder this time, and swiped at her wet face.

“You’re not, are you?” she asked.

The only response was the click of teeth, a moan.

She pushed the thing back again, harder this time, her eyes not leaving it as it flailed against the bed.

Moving fast, Angel hopped on the thing, careful to avoid its mouth and trapping its arms beneath her knees.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out one of the scalpels she had stashed there.

“I love you,” she said as she buried the scalpel in the thing’s ear, pushing until it stopped moving.

The thing went stiff under Angel, and for a moment she sagged, all of her energy seeming to leave her.

“I…”

I trailed off when Angel jumped off the bed and then left the room.

I followed behind her as she went back outside, where she tossed the scalpel then threw up in some bushes.

She wretched until she was empty, then stood up, wiped her hand across her mouth.

“Guess it’s a good thing my mom is dead. She’d kill me for throwing up in her rosebushes.”

She laughed, the sound giving way to a broken sob.

I didn’t know what to say, what to do, so instead I followed her as she went back into the house, got some keys off a board in the kitchen, then went back outside.

She went to a shed, one that was neatly organized, and pulled a shovel off a rack on the wall.

Then she went around back of the house, where I noticed more rosebushes, a vegetable garden, and beyond that what looked to be a few acres of trees, though I couldn’t tell what was growing on them.

“Peaches,” she said, answering my unasked question. “My daddy, he worked at the farm supply store, but every year he grew a little crop. People used to come from all around to get some. Did you know that peaches taste best after a drought?”

She chuckled then turned away from the back and toward the rosebushes.

“No reason for you know that,” she said as she circled the rosebushes.

Seemingly satisfied, she stopped and pushed the shovel into the dirt.

“Can I help?”

“No,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

So I watched as she dug, the hole getting bigger and bigger.

After about fifteen minutes, she took off her doctor’s coat and then went back to digging, her back drenched with sweat.

“Angel, I can—”

“No,” she said, pausing only long enough to glare at me before she went back to it.

After about an hour, she stopped, seeming satisfied with her work.

The hole looked to be about three feet deep, and after she looked at it one more time, she nodded and then pulled herself out.

She wiped her hands on her scrubs then paused for a moment, staring at the house.

She headed toward the porch, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I followed.

She went back to the bedroom, reached up into the closet, and pulled down a huge plastic bin.

I grabbed for it, and this time she didn’t protest.

I settled it on the floor at the foot of the brass bed, and she opened it, rifling through.

“Her wedding dress,” Angel said. “She made it herself.”

She touched the ivory fabric gingerly but then seemed to sober and went back into the bin.

She pulled out what looked to be two quilts.

“My grandmother made these. I always said I was going to learn how, but I never had the time.”

There was regret in her words, emotion, and I suddenly felt like I was intruding.

I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.

“Can you help?” she asked.

I turned back, nodded, then watched as she laid out one quilts on the bed.

Then, she went to the head of the bed, put her arms under her mother’s, and I grabbed her legs.

We moved her to the quilt and then Angel lay the ivory dress on top of her.

She then spread another quilt over her.

I grabbed the bottom end of both quilts, Angel grabbed the top, and together we moved her mother out of the house and into the grave Angel had dug.

When she was satisfied, she started filling the hole, and I didn’t bother to ask if she wanted help.

She covered the hole, smoothed the dirt on it, tears streaming down her face the entire time.

“The nearest neighbors are about eight miles down the road. So we should be okay here for a little while.”

“You don’t think any of those things…”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing attacked her. She had been sick. She told me everything was fine, that she was little bit under the weather. I knew better, knew enough that she wouldn’t tell me if she was on her last legs. But I’ve been so busy, I didn’t come check…”

She shook her head, visibly fighting back tears.

“So whatever it was, I think she had it for a while, and it finally…took her,” Angel said.

We walked back into the house and Angel closed the door.

“There’s a second bath down the hall. You can use it to get cleaned up.”

“Water?”

“The house is on the well, so it doesn’t matter if the power is out or the main line is busted or whatever. It will be fine, if a little cold.”

I nodded, then watched Angel as she went to a closet in the living room.

“A few of my father’s things she couldn’t bring herself to pack away. He was a big guy, so some of it might fit,” she said.

With that, she left.

I rummaged through the bag she’d left at my feet, finding some jeans and T-shirts and flannel that might work, and was elated when I found a pair of boots that actually fit.

I showered, the cold not bothering me, and then dressed and return to the living room.

Angel was there, her hair, which she usually kept in a neat ponytail now in braids.

They looked nice on her.

She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a long-sleeve flannel on top of it, her outfit matching mine.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Me either,” I whispered quietly.

“But we should eat,” she said, standing and walking to the refrigerator.