Thing Bailiwick Read online

  “I’ll pour it in her bowl a little later,” I promised. “As soon as she calms down.”

  ~~~~

  That clean-up just about did me in. Nausea forced me to the couch. I was napping when Elma called to ask if D drank her mineral water. I told her she wouldn’t go near it, that she’d been cowering by the back door since I’d put it in there. She made me promise to leave it, and not to give her any more water till she drank it. I promised, then hung up the phone and shook my head. I didn’t like lying. But I didn’t like seeing D upset either, so I’d thrown the mineral water out.

  I could hear Donny in his room shouting at the computer, hyped up over some major cyber battle. Ty was wasting the day away on his computer as well, no doubt. I didn’t blame them for not wanting to go outside. It was pretty nasty out. The sun hadn’t made an appearance and it was flurrying on and off. So many heaters were blasting that the power company was having trouble keeping up. The lights kept flickering.

  ~~~~

  I fixed spaghetti for dinner. Just didn’t have the energy for anything more complicated. Turned out that wasn’t the best choice of meals. I couldn’t eat it. I kept thinking I was seeing the noodles squirming on my plate. I ate a piece of garlic bread to try to keep the nausea at bay.

  When he called that night, I told Don about the wormy vomit and about my wormy spaghetti dinner. He thought that was pretty funny. He was mad that he’d missed Donny’s rally in the name of payback, but he was glad they’d won. He told me he loved me. Said he’d see me tomorrow.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept having nightmares. I was running from something. It was dark and I couldn’t see where I was running or what I was running from. I woke up a couple of times. The last time, I started awake with a jerk and nearly tumbled out of bed. I was sweating and my throat was dry.

  I got up to adjust the thermostat and to get a glass of water. I was parched so I filled a second glass, then went to check on D. She was sleeping soundly.

  When I sat down on the couch to finish my water, the leather felt so cool I decided to stretch out for a few minutes. I folded my hands on my gargantuan belly and tried to imagine what Caleb would look like. Would he have blonde hair, like Ty, or dark hair, like me and Don and Donny?

  It was the noise that woke me. I was groggy and disoriented and sticking to leather. My neck was stiff as I turned my face toward the strange sound. D was lying in the middle of the living-room. It sounded like she was gnawing on a bone. I reached up and switched on the lamp.

  When I think back on it, I’m surprised I didn’t start shrieking like Donny had. I think I was too startled. That, or I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing.

  It was Houdini. Or what was left of him. Holding him down with her paws, she ripped off a leg, giving it a few half-hearted chews, before gulping it down. No sooner had she swallowed, then she began to gag.

  ~~~~

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ty the next morning. When he told me Houdini had escaped again, I just told him I would look for him. I was feeling sick to my stomach. I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind—Houdini’s body parts mixed with squirming spaghetti worms. I couldn’t hate D for what she’d done. I didn’t know how long she’d been surviving out on her own, but I imagined she’d had to hunt a rabbit or two in order to stay alive.

  I dropped the boys at school and went to pick up my check like I did every Monday. Though it had been the same for nearly two years, I checked the schedule. Tuesday through Friday from eight to three. Friday had been circled in red. It would be my last day for eight weeks. My check was a whopping one-hundred and seventy-three dollars. Most likely not even enough to cover D’s vet bill.

  I deposited it in the bank and was home by quarter after eight. Fifteen minutes later, Mom showed up to help me with D.

  “Oh, my lord,” Mom’s face contorted as she looked to where D was sleeping on the blanket. One hand fluttered to her nose.

  “I know. I gave her a bath, but it didn’t help.”

  “I have never in all my fifty-three years smelled anything so horrid.”

  Mom could be overdramatic at times, but not this time. I decided not to mention that she was fifty-eight. “I know. I think she has mange. You can’t see through all the thick fur, but she’s covered with sores where the hair fell out.”

  Mom leaned closer and pointed a finger with the hand that wasn’t guarding her nose. “What on earth is that?”

  I leaned in for a closer look. A big fat maggot was squirming along her back. You couldn’t miss it against her dark fur. On a hunch, I leaned closer and moved aside a patch of fur.

  That’s when Mom screeched. I couldn’t blame her. She just beat me to it, was all. And that’s when I realized D wasn’t deaf. At least not entirely. She definitely heard the higher registers.

  She shot to her feet and lunged with a growl, grabbing the shrieking offender by the hand. No sooner had she latched on, then she realized her blunder and let go. She scurried from the room, because, by this time, we both were screeching.

  “She…she bit me!”

  “Oh, my god, you’re bleeding!”

  I led Mom to the bathroom to run water over it. There were puncture wounds, two on her palm and a few on the back of her hand. I rummaged through the bathroom cabinet and pulled out some alcohol. She winced when I poured. Her face looked pale in the vanity mirror.

  “That dog is covered in maggots!”

  “I…I had no idea. God! Where is that roll of gauze?” I didn’t feel well.

  I was fishing through the medicine cabinet when D shot by the door like a rocket. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, a black streak. When she collided with the wall at the end of the hall, the trailer shook.

  “What was that!” Mom gasped, her eyes wide.

  “D!” I poked my head out of the bathroom to find D picking herself up off the floor, and a hole the size of a dinner plate in the wall where her head had gone through it. She staggered sideways a few steps and began to snarl, foaming at the mouth. But it wasn’t just foam. Worms were dangling. My skin was crawling as she began to twirl in circles, bouncing off the walls in the narrow hallway. A picture came loose and crashed to the floor, but this didn’t faze her. She was in a mad dash after her tail, and she caught it quickly. No sooner had she latched on, then it came off with a sick pop, and she began to shake it like it was a snake, snarling and flinging slobber worms to the walls.

  I think I made an attempt to scream, but there was something in my throat. Only a choked gurgling came out.

  I didn’t make it to the toilet. I only took one step toward it before the vomit came up all over the bathroom floor. I remember a high-pitched squeak coming from Mom as she did a little jig and backed against the wall to avoid the splatter.

  Clutching my belly, I sagged against the sink. My legs were wobbly. I thought I’d peed my pants when I felt moisture trickling down my thighs. And then it dawned on me. My water had broken.

  Mom grabbed me by the elbow and helped me to the toilet where I plopped down. “The door,” was all I choked out before D came barreling in.

  ~~~~

  It seemed D had a target in mind when she leapt at Mom. She wasn’t interested in an arm or a leg. She went straight for the throat, her momentum landing them both in the tub.

  Adrenaline is a powerful thing. My wobbly legs turned into tightly wound springs and I felt the strength of ten men surge through me as I leapt up and grasped two handfuls of fur. I was going to yank her off Mom and fling her out the door in one deft movement. But there was a ripping sound as I wrenched backward, and the only thing I flung aside were two wads of maggot-infested fur. I lunged at D with a shriek, gouging her in the eye with my finger. I wasn’t expecting it to sink in so deep, like sliding into mush. But it worked. She let loose of Mom’s neck and whirled on me, grabbing me by the arm.

  When I replay it now, it’s all in slow motion, a horrifying fight for my life right there in the bathroom, careening into walls, screa
ming, snarling—me and D both—a long, drawn out, bloody battle. But in reality, it probably lasted about sixty seconds.

  At first, I beat on her with my free hand. And it worked. She let go of my arm, but then latched onto my other at the elbow. Dragging her with me, I lurched around in circles like an idiot, until I slipped on my own vomit. As soon as I went to a knee, she went for my throat, but I got an arm up in time. Somehow I managed to struggle to my feet with her mauling my forearm. I trapped her against the sink cabinet and kneed her in the belly two or three times. It worked. She let go of my arm and began to attack the biggest target she could find, my big round belly. But it wasn’t shaped right for biting. She only managed to drag me around by my shirt, ripping it to shreds. She went for my calf. I remember howling when she latched on. It wasn’t just the pain. I was terrified. If she pulled me off my feet, I was dead. I wedged myself between the sink and toilet so I wouldn’t go down and she moved her grip to my ankle. Her right eye was gone. Yellow pus was running from it.

  I searched for a weapon. There were toothbrushes to my right, only the toilet to my left. I grasped the tank lid—heavy solid porcelain—and brought it down on her head, hard. She staggered backward and, before she could recover, I used the tank lid as a barrier to push her out the door. The slippery vomit helped. She had no traction as she fought against me.

  I almost didn’t get the door shut when she got carpet under her feet. She had her muzzle pressed in the crack, snarling and snapping. Her teeth were coated with my blood, and so were the worms that were dangling. It’s a sight I’ll never forget. I pressed all my weight into it. I was prepared to take her nose off if I had to. I was prepared to take off her fucking head.

  ~~~~

  I believe Mom may have passed out for a few seconds. She was just coming to when I leaned over her in the tub. She put a hand to her bloodied throat.

  “Mom?”

  Her brown eyes were wide and frightened when they moved to me. Her face was deathly pale, her lips tinged blue. She moved them as if trying to speak, but no words came out. I realized she was in big trouble.

  “Okay. I’m going to slide you down a bit, okay, so you’re lying flat.”

  Straddling her in the tub, I slid her so that her neck wasn’t angled so oddly, but she quickly let me know that this position was worse yet.

  It took a seated position to get her comfortable. I rolled a towel to get her neck angled just so against the spigots. “Good?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. Her voice was weak, barely a whisper. “You…” She motioned to my neck.

  I hobbled to the mirror. My face was pale. I didn’t remember D ripping my ear. The blood had flowed to my neck. “It’s not my throat. She ripped my ear.” My voice was shaky. So were the arms I lifted to examine. I quickly lowered them. They were riddled with puncture wounds and there were several deep gashes. My left arm was the worst, one gaping wound especially. I leaned on the sink as a wave of vertigo swept over me.

  “Rabies,” Mom breathed.

  A long shuddering breath escaped me. “I don’t know.” I couldn’t stop picturing what I’d seen in the hall.

  I yelped when she hit the door. It sounded like a battering ram. I was looking at it when she hit it the second time. It shook and the lights flickered.

  The door was locked. There was no way she was coming through it. That’s what I thought, until she hit it a third time and a hole the size of a baseball opened up with her snout poking through. Damned flimsy trailer doors were hardly more than glorified cardboard. That’s the thought that hit me. And that’s when the first contraction hit me.

  It was strong enough to get my attention. I steadied myself on the sink as a giant fist squeezed my mid-section and a cramp attacked my lower back. I could hear D at the door, snarling and scratching. And then she jammed her nose in again, trying to push her way through.

  Flinging open the top drawer, I tossed out the Q-tips and Don’s razor. I snatched up the nail scissors and tossed them aside. I yanked open the middle drawer and tossed out my hair scrunchies, my brush, hair dryer, curling iron. I found the hair scissors near the back. They were long and pointed. I snatched them up.

  When she jammed her nose in again, I jabbed at her muzzle with some snarls of my own. I don’t know how many attempts she made to stick her nose back in, snarling and snapping while I snarled and jabbed. If I had to guess, I’d say around ten. Then the phone started to ring, and she disappeared.

  I was breathing hard, my adrenaline surging, my heart pounding. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the hole. Finally, the phone stopped ringing, breaking my trance.

  When I looked to Mom, her eyes were wide and glassy. I was afraid she was going into shock. There were worms in the tub with her, and maggots scattered about. I scooped them out with toilet paper and flushed them, then pulled down a pile of towels from the cabinet and piled them over her. The bathroom looked like a war zone. Vomit and blood, gobs of fur with maggots, worms scattered everywhere. I lifted the toilet lid and threw up again—soured orange juice.

  Another contraction hit me. I sat on the toilet, clutching at my belly. I wanted desperately to knead the cramping muscles in my back, but my arms were too mangled. I did breathing exercises until it passed.

  Mom reached weakly for my hand. When I took hers, it felt cold to the touch. She was shaking even worse than I was. “Phone,” she pushed out with some difficulty.

  I thought for a moment. “The nearest is in Ty’s room.”

  “No.” She shut her eyes and tried to swallow. Her whole body stiffened with the effort. “Purse,” she said at last.

  I found it lodged down between the toilet and the tub, her little black pocketbook. I emptied the contents onto the sink and snatched up the cell phone. It was an ultra slim, size of a cigarette lighter, version. My hands were shaking and my bloody fingers were slipping and sliding on numerals about the size of pin heads. It didn’t matter though. No reception. Not even when I stood on the toilet. That’s the price you paid for clean country living. Sometimes if you stepped out the front door, you could get a signal. But not always.

  I stuffed a towel into the hole in the door. Maybe if D didn’t see us and we didn’t make any noise, she would forget we were in there. Maybe she would wander off and fall asleep.

  I threw some towels on the floor to cover the vomit, and got down on hands and knees to peek under the door. My mangled arms screamed when I put my weight on them. I screamed when I saw D.

  She had her eye to the crack the same as me.

  I snatched up a towel and stuffed it under the door, and she snarled and scratched, her nails digging into the ‘glorified cardboard’.

  The next contraction caught me off guard. It was strong, strong enough to double me over. Stooped with my hands propped on my knees, I huffed and puffed, trying not to hyperventilate.

  I tried the phone again. I was desperate. When it didn’t work, I entertained the thought of flushing the damned thing down the toilet.

  ~~~~

  The contractions began to come more frequently, each more excruciating than the last. With each, I would collapse to the toilet, panting and praying and pleading for someone to save me. I was terrified for Mom. Her throat was swelling, making it difficult for her to breathe. And she was so pale. I kept talking to her, trying to keep her awake. I knew she was in shock. She couldn’t stop shivering and I had no more towels to pile on her. I’d already lost five or six to D. I kept stuffing them in the hole, and she just kept snatching them out. I would hear her on the opposite side of the door attacking the towels like she had a piece of me, snarling and bumping into walls in her mad frenzy to tear them to shreds. I stuffed a roll of toilet paper in there, wedging it in tight, but she managed to get a hold of that too. I took the shower curtain down and stuffed it in. I even reinforced it with the curtain rod. I really didn’t think she would be able to pull that though. But she did, even with me tugging on the other end. The damned rod bent right in half and disappeared through
the hole, widening it on its way out.

  She kept coming back, tearing at the hole with her nails, mauling it with her teeth. When I wasn’t on the toilet panting, I would jab at her with the scissors. I got the ingenious idea to plug in my curling iron and use it on her nose. This kept her at bay for a while, but the smell of burning flesh was more than I could bear. The nausea made my vision blur until I thought I might pass out. I sprayed different things at her. I used up all the bathroom disinfectant and my hair spray. I even squirted toilet bowl cleaner at her. All this only seemed to incense her further. She rammed the door until I thought it would come off its hinges, the cheap piece of shit.

  As my contractions intensified, my interest in the door diminished. I had one objective. Get Caleb out. Then I would deal with D. But Caleb was being stubborn. He liked it right where he was. I didn’t blame him.

  ~~~~

  It was ten minutes past two when the lights flickered and went out. After five hours of labor and battling with D, I was weak and shaking. I didn’t care about the lights. The night-light by the sink had a back-up battery that was generating plenty of light. I did, however, care about the exhaust fan. The smell of vomit was bad enough, but the stench permeating through the door was putrid. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize it before. But I recognized it then. I smelled death.

  Shortly after the lights went out, a piercing contraction brought me to my knees. Caleb was coming.

  ~~~~

  The bitch watched. The fucking bitch stood there with her eye to the hole. Donny was right. It was glowing, a sickly yellow color. And the smell. I couldn’t stop gagging the whole while I was giving birth. Push and gag, push and gag, glance over at that glowing orb, push and gag. I didn’t dare lie down. I knelt, hugging onto the toilet for dear life. The gauze I’d wound around my arms was soaked through, and blood was trickling down the toilet bowl to the floor. My legs were in bad shape too. One gash on my right calf wouldn’t stop bleeding. I was weak and wobbly and a gray fuzz kept blurring my vision. It was a constant battle just to keep from passing out.