| General Fiction posted June 27, 2015 |
  |
Appearances are deceiving
Hurricane Sandy
by Spiritual Echo
At The Diner Contest Winner
"Ah, Sandy, he hit you again, didn't he?"
Joe's heart broke every time the young woman showed up at the diner in the middle of the night. It meant only one thing; Rob was drinking and using Sandy as the target of his rage.
"It's not so bad," she said, accepting the bag of frozen peas and pressing it against her eye.
"For the hundredth time, please girl, leave the bastard. If its money you're worried about, I've told you, I can give you enough shifts to help you get by."
"You know he'd just drag me out of here. No, I know you mean well, but that would never have fixed the problem."
"Well what will?"
Sandy flinched when Joe's voice grew louder. He immediately apologized and excused himself to get them each a coffee.
He was frustrated, and could not understand why a beautiful young woman allowed herself to be treated with such cruelty. Time after time he'd counselled her, offering to drive her to a shelter, even slipping a few dollars her way, hoping she'd take the next bus out of town. He'd prayed for her, rejoiced when he didn't see her for a few weeks, but inevitably she'd show up at the diner in the wee hours of the morning.
He'd think of his own daughter, away at college, safe and happy, and he ached for Sandy. Not yet twenty-five, she had a lifetime of scars and no future.
He glanced up at the wall-mounted clock; four AM, just two hours before the factory down the street had a shift change. The place would be packed. He had two hours, and hoped this time he'd get through to her.
He slid the coffee across the table and passed her the sugar.
"Isn't there anywhere you can go, some distant relative who could help you?"
Joe already knew the answer to the question. Sandy's mother had dumped her into the foster care system when she was eight. For the next ten years, she had been abused by multiple families who housed her for the cash, using her as a servant, and in several cases, like a sexual toy. The kid never had a chance. Her self esteem was non-existent.
She didn't answer; just cast Joe a feeble smile, wrapping her hands around the coffee mug as if she needed the warmth. With the bag of peas now melting on the table, Joe got a look at the latest damage to her face.
"I think you'll need stitches. That gash on your eyebrow is a good one."
"It'll heal."
"What can I say or do for you that will make you understand. There's a better life out there--somewhere--just waiting for you to claim it."
Sandy set the cup down, and Joe could see her hands were shaking.
"Could you tell the police I've been here since midnight?"
A cold chill crawled down Joe's spine as he looked at Sandy's tearful eyes. "What have you done?"
"I killed him."
She said it in such a matter-of-fact way that for an instant, Joe thought he'd misheard, almost asking her to repeat the three words that were responsible for the anvil in his gut. He slumped back in the booth without losing eye contact. A hundred questions whirled around his head. Accusations: How could Sandy find it easier to kill Rob than to leave him?
For the first time since she'd walked in, she seemed to be in total control. The tears dried up, never leaving her eyes. She was waiting for his answer.
"It was self-defence. I'll tell the cops how many times you've come in covered with blood and bruises. You'll be okay. It's self-defence."
Yet, even as he prattled on, he wondered how a petite young woman could over-power a man one hundred pounds heavier, muscled and toned from years of hauling cargo off ships.
"How did you kill him?"
"I stabbed him."
Joe felt numb. He had no remorse for Rob, a rounder who drank his wages away at the tavern down the street. He stumbled into the diner upon occasion, still looking for a fight after he'd been tossed out from the bar for rowdiness.
Joe hated the man for what he did to Sandy, yet he'd deliberately shown kindness towards Rob, hoping coffee and food would calm the savage before he went home. Still, he was a big man with a vile temper. How had Sandy, a waif of a girl, been able to deliver a fatal blow without Rob stopping her?
As if she felt the confusion rolling around in Joe's head, she reached over and laid her hand over his. "You've been like a father to me, a real friend. I'm sorry...I'm asking you to lie for me. I have no right."
"How did you stab him?"
She let her eyes drop to the table, almost whispering as she told Joe what happened.
"He wanted...he made me...After, he passed out..."
Joe listened as Sandy told him how she'd gone into the kitchen, took out a butcher knife from the drawer and returned to the bedroom. She drove the knife through Rob's heart.
"There must have been a lot of blood."
"Yes...I had a shower then I came here. Now I don't know what to do."
"A shower?"
Joe could not fathom how anyone could kill a man and calmly wash the blood off her hands. He felt himself drawing away, separating his emotional involvement. With Rob dead, Sandy was under no immediate threat. She could have left--anytime. A burning anger was slowly erasing the compassion he felt towards the girl. Had she gotten so used to being victimized that she'd found a way for it to work for her?
"We need to call the police. You'll get a lawyer..."
His words were interrupted by the action on the street. Two high-speed cruisers, lights flashing, but no sirens, distracted them both from the conversation. Joe knew the sirens were unnecessary on the deserted streets in the middle of the night, but he felt the urgency of the chase, even without sound-effects.
"That can't be about Rob. How would they know?"
"I left the door wide open, thinking someone would find him."
Joe stood up and began pacing. The tenement was only a half-block away. He opened the door and stared down the street, watching the cluster of cruisers blocking the street in front of the apartment building. An ambulance rushed by, joining the traffic jam. He took a deep breath, hoping the night air would clear his head and went back inside.
He was surprised by Sandy's calm. While he was outside, she'd poured them more coffee and was calmly stirring sugar and cream into her mug. He felt like he was in the eye of a storm, about to be battered from all directions. How could she be so calm?
"They'll be here soon. You might as well enjoy the coffee."
"Sandy?"
She glanced at the clock. Joe followed her gaze and saw that it was already after five.
"Do you need any help, I mean cooking bacon or something?"
Joe stared.
"You're usually busy after the night shift ends. I can help, if you want. I guess I could accept that job now, if the offer is still good. "
Was she delusional? Joe didn't have a chance to respond. Two officers entered the diner, their eyes raking over the empty restaurant.
"Are you alone? Anyone out back?"
"No, just Sandy and me," Joe said.
"Did you see anything unusual tonight?"
Joe expected Sandy would get up and tell the officers what happened, but she continued to sit, sipping her coffee.
"No sir, I haven't seen anything unusual. What's the problem?"
"Guy up the street got stiffed. Looks like somebody robbed him and took more than his wallet--stabbed--right through the heart."
"Oh, My God," Joe said. "Who was he?"
"Rob Morrison. Know him? Somebody saw a man leave the apartment carrying a TV. He found the door open and the body in the bed."
"Rob..." Sandy's scream was an academy performance. "Is Rob dead?" The tears that had teased all night were flowing freely. "He's dead?"
Joe was stunned. Sandy murmured, sobbed, and pleaded with the cops to tell her details.
"What happened to your face?" The cop had a guarded look, but Sandy filled in the details. Joe would have sworn it was as close to the truth as anything Sandy had told him during the last hour. She omitted the rape, but ended as if on cue with practiced sincerity.
"He didn't mean it, you know. He gets angry when he drinks."
"And you say you've been here since midnight?"
Sandy's eyes glanced over at Joe, as if imploring him to corroborate her story.
"Yes," she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.
The cop turned around and faced Joe. "So, the lady's been here all night and you didn't see anything?"
Joe hesitated, but only for a moment. "That's right, officer."
"We'll need to take you down to the station for a statement," the officer said to Sandy.
The police left the diner, waiting outside for Sandy to join them for a ride downtown.
"Thank you, so much, Joe."
"You better go. I've got the breakfast crowd coming soon."
He turned and walked a few feet before turning back to Sandy. "Did you set me up, coming here to let me see your bruises so that when you finally offed the guy, I'd be your alibi? Am I your patsy?"
"He deserved it."
"Maybe, but I didn't. Your performance was something else."
She treated his words like a compliment. "Thanks a lot," she said, visibly glowing as if someone finally gave her approval.
"You better put your sad face back on before you go outside." Joe motioned to the officers waiting outside, never expecting her final words.
"About that job--can I start next week?"
"Not a chance," he said, marching into the kitchen without looking back.
"Ah, Sandy, he hit you again, didn't he?"
Joe's heart broke every time the young woman showed up at the diner in the middle of the night. It meant only one thing; Rob was drinking and using Sandy as the target of his rage.
"It's not so bad," she said, accepting the bag of frozen peas and pressing it against her eye.
"For the hundredth time, please girl, leave the bastard. If its money you're worried about, I've told you, I can give you enough shifts to help you get by."
"You know he'd just drag me out of here. No, I know you mean well, but that would never have fixed the problem."
"Well what will?"
Sandy flinched when Joe's voice grew louder. He immediately apologized and excused himself to get them each a coffee.
He was frustrated, and could not understand why a beautiful young woman allowed herself to be treated with such cruelty. Time after time he'd counselled her, offering to drive her to a shelter, even slipping a few dollars her way, hoping she'd take the next bus out of town. He'd prayed for her, rejoiced when he didn't see her for a few weeks, but inevitably she'd show up at the diner in the wee hours of the morning.
He'd think of his own daughter, away at college, safe and happy, and he ached for Sandy. Not yet twenty-five, she had a lifetime of scars and no future.
He glanced up at the wall-mounted clock; four AM, just two hours before the factory down the street had a shift change. The place would be packed. He had two hours, and hoped this time he'd get through to her.
He slid the coffee across the table and passed her the sugar.
"Isn't there anywhere you can go, some distant relative who could help you?"
Joe already knew the answer to the question. Sandy's mother had dumped her into the foster care system when she was eight. For the next ten years, she had been abused by multiple families who housed her for the cash, using her as a servant, and in several cases, like a sexual toy. The kid never had a chance. Her self esteem was non-existent.
She didn't answer; just cast Joe a feeble smile, wrapping her hands around the coffee mug as if she needed the warmth. With the bag of peas now melting on the table, Joe got a look at the latest damage to her face.
"I think you'll need stitches. That gash on your eyebrow is a good one."
"It'll heal."
"What can I say or do for you that will make you understand. There's a better life out there--somewhere--just waiting for you to claim it."
Sandy set the cup down, and Joe could see her hands were shaking.
"Could you tell the police I've been here since midnight?"
A cold chill crawled down Joe's spine as he looked at Sandy's tearful eyes. "What have you done?"
"I killed him."
She said it in such a matter-of-fact way that for an instant, Joe thought he'd misheard, almost asking her to repeat the three words that were responsible for the anvil in his gut. He slumped back in the booth without losing eye contact. A hundred questions whirled around his head. Accusations: How could Sandy find it easier to kill Rob than to leave him?
For the first time since she'd walked in, she seemed to be in total control. The tears dried up, never leaving her eyes. She was waiting for his answer.
"It was self-defence. I'll tell the cops how many times you've come in covered with blood and bruises. You'll be okay. It's self-defence."
Yet, even as he prattled on, he wondered how a petite young woman could over-power a man one hundred pounds heavier, muscled and toned from years of hauling cargo off ships.
"How did you kill him?"
"I stabbed him."
Joe felt numb. He had no remorse for Rob, a rounder who drank his wages away at the tavern down the street. He stumbled into the diner upon occasion, still looking for a fight after he'd been tossed out from the bar for rowdiness.
Joe hated the man for what he did to Sandy, yet he'd deliberately shown kindness towards Rob, hoping coffee and food would calm the savage before he went home. Still, he was a big man with a vile temper. How had Sandy, a waif of a girl, been able to deliver a fatal blow without Rob stopping her?
As if she felt the confusion rolling around in Joe's head, she reached over and laid her hand over his. "You've been like a father to me, a real friend. I'm sorry...I'm asking you to lie for me. I have no right."
"How did you stab him?"
She let her eyes drop to the table, almost whispering as she told Joe what happened.
"He wanted...he made me...After, he passed out..."
Joe listened as Sandy told him how she'd gone into the kitchen, took out a butcher knife from the drawer and returned to the bedroom. She drove the knife through Rob's heart.
"There must have been a lot of blood."
"Yes...I had a shower then I came here. Now I don't know what to do."
"A shower?"
Joe could not fathom how anyone could kill a man and calmly wash the blood off her hands. He felt himself drawing away, separating his emotional involvement. With Rob dead, Sandy was under no immediate threat. She could have left--anytime. A burning anger was slowly erasing the compassion he felt towards the girl. Had she gotten so used to being victimized that she'd found a way for it to work for her?
"We need to call the police. You'll get a lawyer..."
His words were interrupted by the action on the street. Two high-speed cruisers, lights flashing, but no sirens, distracted them both from the conversation. Joe knew the sirens were unnecessary on the deserted streets in the middle of the night, but he felt the urgency of the chase, even without sound-effects.
"That can't be about Rob. How would they know?"
"I left the door wide open, thinking someone would find him."
Joe stood up and began pacing. The tenement was only a half-block away. He opened the door and stared down the street, watching the cluster of cruisers blocking the street in front of the apartment building. An ambulance rushed by, joining the traffic jam. He took a deep breath, hoping the night air would clear his head and went back inside.
He was surprised by Sandy's calm. While he was outside, she'd poured them more coffee and was calmly stirring sugar and cream into her mug. He felt like he was in the eye of a storm, about to be battered from all directions. How could she be so calm?
"They'll be here soon. You might as well enjoy the coffee."
"Sandy?"
She glanced at the clock. Joe followed her gaze and saw that it was already after five.
"Do you need any help, I mean cooking bacon or something?"
Joe stared.
"You're usually busy after the night shift ends. I can help, if you want. I guess I could accept that job now, if the offer is still good. "
Was she delusional? Joe didn't have a chance to respond. Two officers entered the diner, their eyes raking over the empty restaurant.
"Are you alone? Anyone out back?"
"No, just Sandy and me," Joe said.
"Did you see anything unusual tonight?"
Joe expected Sandy would get up and tell the officers what happened, but she continued to sit, sipping her coffee.
"No sir, I haven't seen anything unusual. What's the problem?"
"Guy up the street got stiffed. Looks like somebody robbed him and took more than his wallet--stabbed--right through the heart."
"Oh, My God," Joe said. "Who was he?"
"Rob Morrison. Know him? Somebody saw a man leave the apartment carrying a TV. He found the door open and the body in the bed."
"Rob..." Sandy's scream was an academy performance. "Is Rob dead?" The tears that had teased all night were flowing freely. "He's dead?"
Joe was stunned. Sandy murmured, sobbed, and pleaded with the cops to tell her details.
"What happened to your face?" The cop had a guarded look, but Sandy filled in the details. Joe would have sworn it was as close to the truth as anything Sandy had told him during the last hour. She omitted the rape, but ended as if on cue with practiced sincerity.
"He didn't mean it, you know. He gets angry when he drinks."
"And you say you've been here since midnight?"
Sandy's eyes glanced over at Joe, as if imploring him to corroborate her story.
"Yes," she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.
The cop turned around and faced Joe. "So, the lady's been here all night and you didn't see anything?"
Joe hesitated, but only for a moment. "That's right, officer."
"We'll need to take you down to the station for a statement," the officer said to Sandy.
The police left the diner, waiting outside for Sandy to join them for a ride downtown.
"Thank you, so much, Joe."
"You better go. I've got the breakfast crowd coming soon."
He turned and walked a few feet before turning back to Sandy. "Did you set me up, coming here to let me see your bruises so that when you finally offed the guy, I'd be your alibi? Am I your patsy?"
"He deserved it."
"Maybe, but I didn't. Your performance was something else."
She treated his words like a compliment. "Thanks a lot," she said, visibly glowing as if someone finally gave her approval.
"You better put your sad face back on before you go outside." Joe motioned to the officers waiting outside, never expecting her final words.
"About that job--can I start next week?"
"Not a chance," he said, marching into the kitchen without looking back.
Joe's heart broke every time the young woman showed up at the diner in the middle of the night. It meant only one thing; Rob was drinking and using Sandy as the target of his rage.
"It's not so bad," she said, accepting the bag of frozen peas and pressing it against her eye.
"For the hundredth time, please girl, leave the bastard. If its money you're worried about, I've told you, I can give you enough shifts to help you get by."
"You know he'd just drag me out of here. No, I know you mean well, but that would never have fixed the problem."
"Well what will?"
Sandy flinched when Joe's voice grew louder. He immediately apologized and excused himself to get them each a coffee.
He was frustrated, and could not understand why a beautiful young woman allowed herself to be treated with such cruelty. Time after time he'd counselled her, offering to drive her to a shelter, even slipping a few dollars her way, hoping she'd take the next bus out of town. He'd prayed for her, rejoiced when he didn't see her for a few weeks, but inevitably she'd show up at the diner in the wee hours of the morning.
He'd think of his own daughter, away at college, safe and happy, and he ached for Sandy. Not yet twenty-five, she had a lifetime of scars and no future.
He glanced up at the wall-mounted clock; four AM, just two hours before the factory down the street had a shift change. The place would be packed. He had two hours, and hoped this time he'd get through to her.
He slid the coffee across the table and passed her the sugar.
"Isn't there anywhere you can go, some distant relative who could help you?"
Joe already knew the answer to the question. Sandy's mother had dumped her into the foster care system when she was eight. For the next ten years, she had been abused by multiple families who housed her for the cash, using her as a servant, and in several cases, like a sexual toy. The kid never had a chance. Her self esteem was non-existent.
She didn't answer; just cast Joe a feeble smile, wrapping her hands around the coffee mug as if she needed the warmth. With the bag of peas now melting on the table, Joe got a look at the latest damage to her face.
"I think you'll need stitches. That gash on your eyebrow is a good one."
"It'll heal."
"What can I say or do for you that will make you understand. There's a better life out there--somewhere--just waiting for you to claim it."
Sandy set the cup down, and Joe could see her hands were shaking.
"Could you tell the police I've been here since midnight?"
A cold chill crawled down Joe's spine as he looked at Sandy's tearful eyes. "What have you done?"
"I killed him."
She said it in such a matter-of-fact way that for an instant, Joe thought he'd misheard, almost asking her to repeat the three words that were responsible for the anvil in his gut. He slumped back in the booth without losing eye contact. A hundred questions whirled around his head. Accusations: How could Sandy find it easier to kill Rob than to leave him?
For the first time since she'd walked in, she seemed to be in total control. The tears dried up, never leaving her eyes. She was waiting for his answer.
"It was self-defence. I'll tell the cops how many times you've come in covered with blood and bruises. You'll be okay. It's self-defence."
Yet, even as he prattled on, he wondered how a petite young woman could over-power a man one hundred pounds heavier, muscled and toned from years of hauling cargo off ships.
"How did you kill him?"
"I stabbed him."
Joe felt numb. He had no remorse for Rob, a rounder who drank his wages away at the tavern down the street. He stumbled into the diner upon occasion, still looking for a fight after he'd been tossed out from the bar for rowdiness.
Joe hated the man for what he did to Sandy, yet he'd deliberately shown kindness towards Rob, hoping coffee and food would calm the savage before he went home. Still, he was a big man with a vile temper. How had Sandy, a waif of a girl, been able to deliver a fatal blow without Rob stopping her?
As if she felt the confusion rolling around in Joe's head, she reached over and laid her hand over his. "You've been like a father to me, a real friend. I'm sorry...I'm asking you to lie for me. I have no right."
"How did you stab him?"
She let her eyes drop to the table, almost whispering as she told Joe what happened.
"He wanted...he made me...After, he passed out..."
Joe listened as Sandy told him how she'd gone into the kitchen, took out a butcher knife from the drawer and returned to the bedroom. She drove the knife through Rob's heart.
"There must have been a lot of blood."
"Yes...I had a shower then I came here. Now I don't know what to do."
"A shower?"
Joe could not fathom how anyone could kill a man and calmly wash the blood off her hands. He felt himself drawing away, separating his emotional involvement. With Rob dead, Sandy was under no immediate threat. She could have left--anytime. A burning anger was slowly erasing the compassion he felt towards the girl. Had she gotten so used to being victimized that she'd found a way for it to work for her?
"We need to call the police. You'll get a lawyer..."
His words were interrupted by the action on the street. Two high-speed cruisers, lights flashing, but no sirens, distracted them both from the conversation. Joe knew the sirens were unnecessary on the deserted streets in the middle of the night, but he felt the urgency of the chase, even without sound-effects.
"That can't be about Rob. How would they know?"
"I left the door wide open, thinking someone would find him."
Joe stood up and began pacing. The tenement was only a half-block away. He opened the door and stared down the street, watching the cluster of cruisers blocking the street in front of the apartment building. An ambulance rushed by, joining the traffic jam. He took a deep breath, hoping the night air would clear his head and went back inside.
He was surprised by Sandy's calm. While he was outside, she'd poured them more coffee and was calmly stirring sugar and cream into her mug. He felt like he was in the eye of a storm, about to be battered from all directions. How could she be so calm?
"They'll be here soon. You might as well enjoy the coffee."
"Sandy?"
She glanced at the clock. Joe followed her gaze and saw that it was already after five.
"Do you need any help, I mean cooking bacon or something?"
Joe stared.
"You're usually busy after the night shift ends. I can help, if you want. I guess I could accept that job now, if the offer is still good. "
Was she delusional? Joe didn't have a chance to respond. Two officers entered the diner, their eyes raking over the empty restaurant.
"Are you alone? Anyone out back?"
"No, just Sandy and me," Joe said.
"Did you see anything unusual tonight?"
Joe expected Sandy would get up and tell the officers what happened, but she continued to sit, sipping her coffee.
"No sir, I haven't seen anything unusual. What's the problem?"
"Guy up the street got stiffed. Looks like somebody robbed him and took more than his wallet--stabbed--right through the heart."
"Oh, My God," Joe said. "Who was he?"
"Rob Morrison. Know him? Somebody saw a man leave the apartment carrying a TV. He found the door open and the body in the bed."
"Rob..." Sandy's scream was an academy performance. "Is Rob dead?" The tears that had teased all night were flowing freely. "He's dead?"
Joe was stunned. Sandy murmured, sobbed, and pleaded with the cops to tell her details.
"What happened to your face?" The cop had a guarded look, but Sandy filled in the details. Joe would have sworn it was as close to the truth as anything Sandy had told him during the last hour. She omitted the rape, but ended as if on cue with practiced sincerity.
"He didn't mean it, you know. He gets angry when he drinks."
"And you say you've been here since midnight?"
Sandy's eyes glanced over at Joe, as if imploring him to corroborate her story.
"Yes," she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.
The cop turned around and faced Joe. "So, the lady's been here all night and you didn't see anything?"
Joe hesitated, but only for a moment. "That's right, officer."
"We'll need to take you down to the station for a statement," the officer said to Sandy.
The police left the diner, waiting outside for Sandy to join them for a ride downtown.
"Thank you, so much, Joe."
"You better go. I've got the breakfast crowd coming soon."
He turned and walked a few feet before turning back to Sandy. "Did you set me up, coming here to let me see your bruises so that when you finally offed the guy, I'd be your alibi? Am I your patsy?"
"He deserved it."
"Maybe, but I didn't. Your performance was something else."
She treated his words like a compliment. "Thanks a lot," she said, visibly glowing as if someone finally gave her approval.
"You better put your sad face back on before you go outside." Joe motioned to the officers waiting outside, never expecting her final words.
"About that job--can I start next week?"
"Not a chance," he said, marching into the kitchen without looking back.
|
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