Page 13 of Last Breath

I don’t do well with silence unfortunately. The monsters in my head speak up, and they’re too loud without the song.

Swaying automatically to the tune I love, Salem doesn’t seem to mind, or at least he doesn’t mention it. We continue on with hanging the wash until we finish, the time passing cordially.

With Salem, it’s as if my own inner demon has a kindred spirit. Oddly, I feel awkward and agitated when talking to Malachi. Sure, Malachi may seem the more contained man, but I have the feeling of the two, Malachi is the most on edge, with Salem the tinder, Malachi the spark. I could be wrong, but it’s my first assessment of the quirky men.

Hanging the last shirt and picking up the empty basket, I thank him out of habit. I was always taught that kindness should be appreciated in any form.

“You’re more than welcome, Joy.” Opening the screen door for me, he gives me a genuine smile.

Opening the door, and narrowly missing Salem’s smirk, I hear yelling as we reenter.

“Sweetie!” Shit.

Setting the laundry basket down, I step into the kitchen, where Malachi looks ready to commit murder.

“She’s done that a few times. I didn’t think you’d like me to check on her so I’ve stayed here.” With a light of mischief in his eyes, I can’t disagree. For him to visit Marjory, I think that would be a very bad idea.

Before heading in to see her, I check the beets with a fork and inspect his frying skills. “Things look good.”

“Thanks,” Malachi says sweetly. “That means something to me, Joy.”

I’m unsure how to answer that, so I ignore him. Before setting off to see to Gran’s needs, I ask, “Could you peel the beets, please? She hates seeing skins on them.” Nodding, Malachi turns off the stove. “And, could you please prep the table for four? The plates are up there. I’ll bring her in in a minute.”

As Gran squeals my nickname once more, I walk in to find the music is still playing, but Gran is visibly agitated. “What’s wrong?” It’s rhetorical, as I don’t expect lucidity in her answer.

“Why did you let that Jones boy come over? I told you he killed Mr. Whiskers. I won’t tolerate you lying to me, Corrine.”

“I’m not lying, Gran. It’s not the Jones boy, I promise.”

Still shaken, upset with worry, she’s mixing up timelines.

“He best not be one of those boys here for dinner. I told you what I’d do the next time he came around.”

“You did, Gran, you did. It’s time for dinner.”

Unlocking the wheels on her chair and making our way around the room, careful not to bump the record player, I wheel my grandmother to the kitchen. Hopefully, she can be on her best ‘Gran’ behavior.

But it’s doubtful.

Chapter 8

Malachi

The front of the weatherworn, dilapidated, covered in overgrown bushes building, looked like a fitting place to hide out. I was shocked today. My innate habit of knocking on the door to give the ghosts time to exit gave me a start when the beautiful woman appeared. Hearing the shuffling inside, I had the expectation of scurrying rodents, or another bastard like the one we’d just left. Not Joy. Peeling back the door, standing on the other side of the disheveled screen, she had my full attention.

After inviting ourselves in and strong-arming our way to dinner, Joy has returned from hanging clothing on the line. As she enters, she’s humming a silly old-time tune that I recognize, and I almost feel like joining in. Hearing her sweet voice halts me though. We don’t run across sweet often. It’s death, decay, destruction and condemnation.

What started out as a way to appease Salem of his inner demons needing retribution has become a mess. The mess was unfortunate, but a necessary evil. We’re erasing evil. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to sleep at night. We’ve evaded the FBI, the State Department, and the local police that all hoped to take us in. I don’t think we’re the smartest guys, but we’ve stayed out of their watchful eyes longer than I thought we could.

So, here we are.

Salem and I must have been a sight when we arrived. Plastered with blood and gore, I’d wiped it across the edge of Joy’s cheek. She wasn’t frightened by us, nor did she cower. Albeit she’s had no choice in it, really. The funny part, herGrandidn’t say anything either when we arrived. That honestly intrigues me.

Now that Joy’s off to gather her grandmother, I’m cleaning and preparing for dinner, which is comical. Salem and I seemdomesticated.

Domestication was never ours to own. It went out the door with Tress.

Our innocence was removed after the first night sleeping under the stars as kids. Civility exited when the knife clipped skin. Manners escaped when we painted ourselves in the blood of others.

---