Page 9 of Twice as Twisted

He starts for the door, and everyone moves aside, the Red Sea parting for my brother, the chosen one. I stand there, my arms hanging at my sides, watching them go.

three

Baron Dolce

I hit the accelerator and pull away from the Slaughterpen, fitting the evening’s events into sequence in the code of all I missed when I was gone. I drum my fingers on the wheel, consider turning right, following the winding road I did the night I left town. My thumb finds the scar on my thigh, absently stroking it through my jeans.

A lot has changed since that night, and not just for those I left behind.

I slow to a stop at a light. I could leave along that road, out of Faulkner going east, toward the Mississippi, where I picked up the hitchhiker.

Jane.

It was Duke’s cigarette that reminded me of the way she smelled when she got in the car, and later, when she flicked her fried hair behind her ear before leaning over, pulling the needle and thread through the cut on my thigh. She didn’t say anything. She was silent for a long time—in the car, in the motel room, in the darkness of the cellar, where the mildew and dirt covered her cigarette stink. But eventually I got my little bird to sing.

My cock stirs at the memory of that first night with her, and I shift in my seat, gripping the wheel and staring straight ahead. That road leads home—or to the house that was home for the past few years.

The light changes, and I continue on. Without Duke, the other road is a dead end. I made many observations in our timeapart, not the least of which were the ones I made of myself. I now know Duke’s purpose in my life.

I pull up to the old house in the neighborhood where Dad moved us to rub it in the Darlings’ faces. Mabel’s old house. I always appreciated that touch.

The house next door is finally gone. Sometime in the last six months, the charred remains were razed to the ground and hauled away after sitting there for years, a burned-out shell that decreased the value of the neighborhood. A couple pieces of machinery have arrived to begin the new construction project. Once it’s finished, Devlin’s parents will move back. Devlin and Crystal will stay in our house. Royal and Harper will leave for college.

There’s nothing for us here either, except memories of Mabel.

Now that we’ve graduated, we don’t have to be satisfied with her memory anymore.

Inside the house, I pass the living room on my way to the stairs and stop. I let my gaze sweep over the room, taking in the scene, reading it like a cipher.

Ma has draped herself over the loveseat in a silk nightie, the golden lamplight glimmering off her bare legs. She sways her foot, pretending she’s doing it mindlessly and not trying to catch Devlin’s eye. He sits on the sofa, a sleeping baby tucked into the crook of his arm, staring resolutely at the TV. She wants to fuck him, and she wants him to want to fuck her. But she’s not sure if she’d go through with it once she seduced him into agreement. If she were sure, she’d be on the couch beside him, leaning over to see the baby, her tits dangerously close to tumbling out of the deep V of her garment. She’d be trying to convince him to go through with it.

“Back so soon?” she asks, sitting up from her spot. She picks up her drink and takes a sip, watching me over the rim with bleary eyes.

“It wasn’t really my scene,” I say, stepping into the room.

“Of course it wasn’t,” she says, standing and going to the liquor cart. She moves slowly, measuring her steps. That means she’s drunk, though she’d never want anyone else to know. “Watching people beat each other to a pulp without rules—it’s barbaric. But then, without rules we’d all be no different from animals, wouldn’t we? Have a seat, sweetheart. I’ll make us both something.”

“Agreed.” Working within the rules is what makes anything interesting. Knowing when you can bend those rules, when you can get away with breaking them. There’s no cleverness, no art to what they do at the Slaughterpen. It’s simple, senseless violence for simple, senseless people.

I sink into the loveseat Ma left. The familiar warmth of her body lingers in the leather, like a nest recently vacated by a mother bird, a promise to return. Family always returns to source. Dolce blood is thick and sticky. Even the people who try to leave find themselves pulled back, like my sister Crystal, who disappeared for three years only to return from the dead like nothing happened.

“You’ve always been smarter than your brothers. Too smart to be entertained by that kind of display,” Ma says, returning with a drink in each hand. She sits sideways across my lap, handing me one of the glasses. “Why on earth does your brother have the help retiring so early? Making my own drinks here like some kind of bar maid.”

She laughs and takes a sip. I consider asking how many she’s had, but I won’t do it in front of Devlin. I can see him watching us from the corner of his eye. Ma totters on my knees, and I put an arm around her waist to keep her from falling.Devlin turns his gaze back to the TV, but I know he’s not watching it. He’s trying to understand us, to determine if her sitting in my lap is inappropriate or just Italian. He probably thinks I’m fucking my own mother. Coming from a family of perverts like his, that’s no surprise.

“I can’t believe your father’s not here to see you graduate,” Ma says with a sniff. “It’s just like him to leave the hardest parts for me.”

“Ma,” I say, giving her a warning look. “He’s dead. You don’t have to fight with him anymore.”

“I know,” she wails, her eyes filling with tears. “There’s nothing left for me without Tony.”

“That’s not true,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “You still have us.”

“I have burdens,” she cries. “All the responsibilities for all five of you. That’s what Tony left me. Work!” Her lip trembles as she lifts her glass, spilling a few drops down her chin.

I glance at Devlin, but he’s still pretending to watch TV.

“Come on, Ma. Let’s get you to bed.”

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