In the pocket of her dress Cissy Rae was carrying four new wrapped syringes from the needle exchange when she halted on the sidewalk. She held her glasses and looked down. She crouched down, like a little girl squatting down on her haunches.
On the sidewalk she saw an array of dead worm carcasses, burned up under the sun. Strips of worm flesh, hardened, brown. Little four-inch jerky strings. What possessed a worm to do that, she wondered, to wiggle up out of the cool dark underground and throw itself down under the sun? To just die there like that?
She tripped along through shards of broken bottles, heading home. Thank goodness I got my thick soles. An oppressive rank odor seemed to follow her as she walked, a dead animal nearby perhaps.
She entered and closed the door upon motionless dark. Windows were covered by cardboard and duct tape. A single lamp gave a parched yellow light. A couch and coffee table. Lying on the couch were the sheeted angular lumps of a sleeping body. She tugged the wet fabric loose from her back and sides.
“Saint? Saint? You awake yet? Something smells dead outside.”
The sound of rattling adenoids came from the couch. In the sparse kitchen she turned on a light over the sink and watched him across the breakfast bar.
“You want a sandwich? I’m making me one.”
With Saint she always lilted her voice to sound casual to keep her big brother from getting annoyed with her. She didn’t want to nag, but she had to say something.
She brought a glass of tap water and stood over him watching his face. At last a glint of the lamp reflected from the orb of one eye. The glossy dot fluttered and winked at her for a moment. He whispered her name and smiled.
She cleared enough debris from the coffee table to sit down next to him.
“What’s up Sis.”
“You. You up.”
“It’s here at last, Cissy Rae. It’s Judgment Day. Isn’t it? Is it Judgment Day?”
As he was talking she drew the new syringes from her pocket and dropped them on the table, and she carefully collected the used ones into a plastic lunchbox that had her name written on a strip of masking tape.
“Quit your nonsense. It’s Thursday Saint. You probably ought to get going.”
“I saw him again, Cis.”
“Saw who.”
“Came to me while I was down the rabbit hole. The angel, the Son of Man! Ha ha!”
“You nut.”
“Walking in a field, he told me, Judgment Day’s coming.”
“Well what’d you think you’d see? It’s called a hallucination. That crud makes you see all kinda things that ain’t there.”
“No, no. It’s real!”
“Yeah, Judgment Day’ll come for you alright. And that dead smell’s gonna be right here in this house.”
“Not me, no sir. Not until the angel takes me.”
“Now listen. You said you were gonna get clean. You gonna get clean, right? Like you said?”
“That’s right, just like we talked, real soon. Tell you what. I’ll quit soon as Jesus comes to take me up on Judgment Day.”
“Stop it fool! I’m being serious.”
“So am I! And listen here. When he comes for me, you just grab my hand. You grab a hold of my hand like this, you see, and I’ll take you up with me! Deal?”
He gave a kind of smile like he’d told a joke and was waiting for her to laugh. Then he sprang up and reached for a pair of sunglasses. She held out the glass of water and he took it. In an instant it was gone as if poured on the parched soil of an afternoon. He snatched a button down from the back of a chair, snapping it over his shoulders.
“I’m gonna sleep in the art studio for a night or two. Probably see you Monday.”
“I hope you can bring home a little more this time, Saint. Electric’s due.”
“You watch. I’ll bring it home.” He rolled up his shirt sleeves and winked at her. “Angels gonna help me sell lots of pieces this weekend.”
“Yeah, right. All the fairies in Disneyland ain’t gonna help. Let’s hope there’s an art dealer out there who will.”
He leaped across the room. Against the light of the open door he could have been entering a portal to heaven.
“Saint, hey! There’s something dead out there.” The door closed and she was alone in the dark room.
~
In the hot afternoon, Bunt and Cissy Rae stood in a long line at a snow cone trailer in a parking lot. The high sun made Cissy Rae squint with her hand to her brow. Bunt stood with contrapposto hips, looking full-breasted and waifish in her poplin dress, unfazed by the brightness. Her eyes were sleep-deprived, alert, and slightly sunk into her head. Her blonde locks had a kind of ropey texture that seemed to get by with only an occasional brush. Up and down her left arm were scars in little rows, large and small, each one a thin line across her hairless tan skin.
“We had that big rain last week,” Bunt said. “It’s because of the rain they come out.”
“Says who.”
“I heard it somewhere. Worms can’t breathe underground when it rains, so they come out for air.”
“Alright. Then why do they go onto the sidewalk and burn up like little strips of beef jerky?”
“Maybe they couldn’t find the dirt again.”
“Dirt six inches away and there they lay burning up on the cement. They’re smart enough to come up for air. Why do they stay there instead of getting out of the sun?”
“Little sun worshippers I guess.”
“Yeah. Little religious freaks. It’s just strange.” Cissy Rae ran a finger under her collar. The line inched forward. “You and me’s gonna burn up pretty soon standing here. Just like them worms.”
Bunt’s tendrilled mop hung around her neck unsuccessfully covering a series of sickly purple and red hickies. “Yeah. Maybe somebody’ll stand over us. Looking down at our burnt up brown shells.”
Cissy Rae pushed up her glasses, looking at Bunt’s neck as she moved her hair aside. “Not you baby doll. You’ll be beautiful even when you’re dead. And I reckon I’m not the only one who thinks so.” Bunt smiled with one side of her mouth.
Some minutes later they walked along in the shade at the muddy edge of a wooded acreage licking their snow cones.
“How’s Darrell been?”
“He’s been gone. Be back tomorrow night.”
“What’s he gonna say about them things on your neck.”
“Probably come unglued. Start throwin’ stuff.”
“You wanna come stay at my place?”
“Naw. I can’t stay forever. He gets mad if I’m gone for more than a night or two. And I got momma and the boys to look after.”
Cissy Rae put her arm in Bunt’s arm looking up at the sky and pulled her closer as they walked. “Did Darrell ever…you know?”
Bunt’s eyes were glazing over. “Some.”
Cissy Rae stopped and turned to her. “What do you mean some?”
“Sometimes—”
“Sometimes?”
Cissy Rae’s stood open-mouthed. Bunt gazed at some far away object, celestial, broken, as if summoned to the clouds.
“Sometimes,” she said thinly. “He comes into my room sometimes. Wakes me up.”
She seemed in a trance, eyes now fully opened toward the sun, like a stigmatic hovering above the ground. Cissy Rae milled awkwardly beside her.
“Aw girl.”
She was in the shadows, on the dim periphery of Bunt’s awareness. “I just can’t believe it! You poor thing. Bunt darlin’? Don’t stare at the sun, sweetie. I just can’t believe what you’re going through, you know? Hey, are you listening?”
In a moment Bunt came back to her, as if returned from a beautiful dream. She smiled and took Cissy Rae’s hand, and they began to stroll again. “Yeah. Well. You know. He ain’t the first.”
“Sakes Bunt! How can you be so casual? Your momma’s boyfriend? How many times he come after you?”
“It ain’t as bad as all that.”
Cissy Rae yanked her hand away and stumbled backward. “What do you mean!”
“I mean he ain’t that bad. He ain’t hit me or nothin’.”
“What are you saying!”
“Well he ain’t blood kin. It’s just the way things are, I guess. Boys think I’m pretty. God made me this way.”
Cissy Rae threw her arms down. “You stop that talk! This instant!”
“Don’t fret yourself, Cissy Rae.” Bunt cupped a tender hand on Cissy Rae’s cheek. Then she dropped her hand to her shoulders and pulled her in laying her forehead into Cissy Rae’s neck. “He’s up there watchin’ over us. Every day. You let the boys do what they want,” she whispered. “And they leave you alone. And that’s that. He even takes momma now and then.”
“God’s sake Bunt!” Cissy Rae stepped back and spun around pulling at her ears as if to tear out what she’d just heard. “Just stop! Stop talking! There ain’t no God! You hear? This is a sick, messed up world! And I swear there ain’t no God, and that’s it! You’re living proof as if I needed any. How could something pretty as you live like that?”
“We’re gettin’ by, Cissy.”
Cissy Rae leaned against a stump and started to weep. “All the beautiful things in the world! Somebody ought to… All the beautiful things… It ain’t supposed to be that way. You…shackin’ up with him. Comin’ to you in the night! And…what? Now and then? Now and then! Are you outta your mind?”
“Sweetie, don’t get upset. We’re gettin’ by. That’s all. Just gettin’ by.”
“Oh God! Bunt, there’s that smell again! That god-awful smell! It was near the house. And by the bus stop. And now it’s here. I’d swear it’s following me around! You smell it? I’m gonna…throw up! I’m gonna…oh…OH…!”
~
Cissy Rae slouched on the floor beside Saint as he lay motionless on the couch, the dark of the night broken only by the dull light of a votive candle.
“I know you, big brother. I know what you’re thinkin’,” she murmured. “You’re out chasing the sun again. Like you always did. Talking to God. Burnin’ up like a worm. It’s just a bunch a crud. An arm full of juice. A head full of nonsense. Come out of it, Saint. You shoot that crud. Talking to your Jesus. And I’m left alone. You gotta come out of it Saint. ‘Cause I ain’t happy alone here. I ain’t strong. So you gotta come out of it. I need you here.”
His breathing was so shallow that she put her face to his mouth. Warm, moist air on her nose and mouth, his breath not unpleasant.
“You used to talk about being an astronaut. I thought you were crazy. Said you wanted to explore the sun. You looked straight at the sun with your eyes open, even though momma said not to. I don’t know how you did it without going blind. It’s like you came from the sun.”
Saint quit his daredevil ways after their parents were killed by a drunk driver. He was eighteen and he worked so that he could take care of Cissy Rae on his own for five years until she was of age.
“What can I say to get you to come back to me?”
“Ain’t no use, Cissy Rae.” She started and then relaxed. His voice was grizzly and slurred like one talking in his sleep. “God made me upright, but…well, I sought out many inventions. You gonna make it on your own just fine.”
“You just determined to kill yourself with that crud, is that it? What if I don’t wanna make it on my own?”
Saint reached out a hand and she took it.
“For everything there’s a season. Things are gonna be alright. That’s what he told me. Tell your friend she’ll be alright too. Not to worry. It’s twins alright. And me, well. I’m going to my long home.”
“What friend? What are you talking about?”
“My dust gonna return to the earth. He’s coming for me, Cissy Rae. Real soon.”
She snatched her hand away and sat up straight. Her face glistened with the shine of a humid summer night.
“Stop your damned foolishness! This ain’t the time for it. Now I been patient Saint, but it’s got to stop sometime. Your crud, your Jesus. These are crutches, silly crutches that you don’t need.”
“Remember what I said. Judgment day’s a’comin. And you take my hand, just like I said. I was with him just now, in my mind. We was—”
Cissy Rae stood up and shouted throwing her hands down, “Stop it! I don’t wanna hear no more!” She scurried out of the room.
~
Dusk had fallen already as Cissy Rae stepped out of a salvaged and whitewashed school bus where they paid money for blood plasma. She drew out a change purse and tucked away twenty-five dollars.
Bunt would be finishing her shift at the pet store. From there they would go next door to a diner. Cissy Rae moved quickly along the sidewalk.
She approached a picnic table where a dark figure sat hunched over. Plastic bags lay about the table with collected trash and aluminum. In front of him was a tin cup and a small empty liquor bottle. One hand was resting on a shaggy black pillow, obscure in the twilight. He sat motionless, his mouth and eyes barely open. From her distance she glanced around. She stepped toward him.
She caught a whiff of the liquor in his cup. Her tense fingers balled into knots. Moving closer she saw that the pillow on the table was covered in black hair, a dead dog. Her discovery of the departed little animal brought up a staccato gasp. The man spoke.
“HA!”
Cissy Rae started and let out a shriek.
“Lawd, a sight to see! Huh! They bound to cry out, shonuf. Lump a clay awright. On the wheel. Keep a’turnin.”
“Oh! Uh. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked—”
“Sight to see, awright! Lawd a mercy. Ain’t that right Sh’kinah. Blind nigh on sixty year. They look, but they mo’ blind than me. Blind man the one who see. Ain’t that right Sh’kinah.”
“I’m not sure I—“
“When I’z a youngin the angel come. He stand in the sun a’blazin and his terrible swift sword in his hand. And he say don’t look. Cain’t nobody look. But I look. And I go blind shonuf. But he gimmie to see different. See outside everything. See inside.
“Okay well. Bye…”
“Go on, tellah! Tellah what I tell you. Hey, I ain’t told you yet. Don muzzle a ox while izz threshin. You hear? A man’s gotta eat. Shonuf.
“Oh! Ah, I only have a little money. I can give you a five. And that little dog there. Well. I’m sure you loved it, but—”
“Worker’s worthy of his wages, un’stand. Don muzzle a ox.”
“Here. If you’re careful you can make that stretch for two or three meals. Now I need to be going.”
“You blind girl! Don think you can run away. You blind but you’ll see ‘fore iz over. Ain’t that right Sh’kinah. What I wouldn’t give to see dat. Mm-hm. Now let’s get this over.”
“I’m sorry? Get what over? No! I’ve really got to—”
“Listen! Yo’ man’s crossin’ over soon. Yo’ Saint. You bes’ get ready. Cross a Jordan, you un’stand. Shonuf. Fact he already underground. You bettah right yo’self. Saint said.”
“What! What about Saint? What do you—“
“Take a han, thass all. Take a han.”
“A hand? Your hand? I don’t think so.”
“Like Saint said.”
“Not after you touchin’ that dead dog.”
“One thing I’monna tell. You tellah. But really this for you more than her. Listen now. A babe’s a blessin’. Two’s twice blessed. Who the sire don matter. She know it.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Miss yellow hair. Yo’ blind eyes can’t see it.”
“I don’t wanna hear any more of this.”
“Blessin shonuf.”
He turned toward her and for the first time she saw his eyes wide open and cloudy white. “Ain’t but one God made us all! Ain’t that right Sh’kinah! Ha ha!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I gave you money, now let me be. I have to go!”
She turned and skittered away in the night and behind her amid his raucous laughter she heard the sound of a little dog barking.
~
Cissy Rae dropped her face into her hands. Bunt sat across from her wincing. The florescent lighting hummed and cast its yellow pallor around them. Bunt nipped at a hangnail, but her eyes were giddy.
“It’s been seven weeks,” she said.
“Sakes Bunt.” Cissy Rae hung her head. “Do you know whose it is?”
“No, but…” Then with a thumbnail in her teeth, “Probably Darrell’s.”
“Oh God! You poor girl. That’s awful!”
“I…” Bunt dropped her hands in her lap. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”
“It’s no good girl. Can’t you see that? You poor innocent thing. I know. It ain’t your fault. You’re young and you don’t know. But this is no good. You can’t be pregnant.”
“Babies ain’t bad.”
“Girl, you’re seventeen!”
“A baby’s a baby,” she smiled.
“You can’t have your stepdaddy’s baby! You gotta get that taken care of. I can help—”
“Him and momma ain’t married.”
“We gotta get you taken care of. Before it starts to show.”
“Shoot,” Bunt grabbed the cup of ice. “You wanna fill me full of nightmares is what. I have plenty of bad dreams. I don’t need no more.”
“That’s because you start out with a head full of fairy stories about God and whatnot. We’ll get through that. There’s medicines and stuff. But it’s what’s best for you.”
“What about what’s best for my soul.”
“Bunt, you can’t keep it! It’ll ruin your life! Darrell’s bastard son! Is that what you want? You take care of yourself. It’s probably what Darrell wants too!”
Bunt looked at Cissy Rae. “It’s death-dealin’ s’what it is. You mess with death, you kill something, they say he never leaves you. He haunts you forever.”
“It’s your own body, Bunt. Ain’t no death hauntin’ nobody.”
“No, Cissy Rae. It’s true. It follows you around, like a shadow, like bad air that you can’t escape. You raise death, stir him up, he’ll never leave you be.”
“For pity’s sake! What have you been reading? Some kinda comic book? Some voodoo book? Some TV show? That’s all nonsense. Think about what your life will be like taking care of Darrell’s little bastard!”
Cissy Rae plunged her head back into her hands. Bunt’s voice trembled.
“I’d rather me die. You hear? But either way, I ain’t gonna kill so’s I can live. I ain’t gonna ask Death to give me life.” Then she smiled, her sincerity renewed. “And besides, there’s something else. Something I ain’t told you yet…”
Cissy Rae suddenly felt drunk, the diner and all its tables and chairs swam around. Her scalp tingled with what she knew Bunt was about to say, what she knew but couldn’t think how she knew. She blinked at Bunt. Panting, barely audible she said, “…Twins?”
“Twins!”
~
Cissy Rae stood at the bus stop clenched in every muscle. Again, the day burned hot and again the smell came, stronger than ever, of something dead under the sun.
Leaving the bus she headed to where her brother was working and sleeping. His art studio was in a dank, concrete basement in a smoldering industrial park. It was four days since she’d seen him. She whimpered aloud at a long dead worm on the sidewalk, a stiff little strip of jerky.
She trudged along a trail through an easement of scrub and trees. Nearing the end of the wooded area, she saw the building and the stairs down. A branch knocked her glasses far into high grass. She pressed ahead blindly and groped to the building from memory. At the concrete wall, she found the handrail of the dark stairway that led into the basement and she hurried down. The humid, funky smell that flowed out stunned her and she broke down.
“Saint?” she huffed. “You in there?”
In a darker recess of the room was an army cot where a bulging mass could only be the sleeping Saint. She fumbled her way forward kicking boxes and debris. At the edge of the cot she touched his foot. He didn’t move and she swallowed hard and said his name firmly. There was no answer. She pounced on him, rolling him over to face her, yanking away a cotton sheet and sending a syringe skittering across the floor.
“Saint! Doggone it Saint,” she sobbed. “What did you do! Are you awright? Saint, answer me!” she cried grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. She put her head on his chest and listened. She snatched his wrist and pressed around trying to find a pulse.
He made a gargling sound and she froze. In the panic, a groan, Saint’s voice,
“My God. Is it…? It’s you!”
“Yes, Saint!” she sobbed. “It’s me. I’m so glad you’re—“
“Now?”
“…wh—”
“Right now?”
“I don’t—“
“So be it. I’m ready.”
“What?”
Saint’s voice was dreamy and energetic.
“It’s so bright. So bright! Brighter than the sun!”
“Saint!” The tears rolled down her cheeks. His eyes were opened looking straight up at the ceiling. She looked hard at him as he struggled to speak. He heaved and panted and laughed in amazed spasmodic breaths, and she mewled and wrung her hands. And in a plunging calm he breathed out,
“Cissy Rae. Let’s go.”
She shook with each beat of her heart. She cradled his head. She heard a long exhale and she sat back, kneeling beside the cot. And she slid her hand down the length of his arm and took his hand.
Jeffrey Allen Mays’ short fiction has been published in Catapult/Topology Magazine, Please See Me, and God and Nature. His debut novel The Former Hero was published in 2014 by AEC Stellar Publishing and became winner of the 2015 Texas Association of Authors Book Award as well as finalist in the National Indie Excellence Awards. In 2020 Jeffrey received his MFA and now teaches writing at St. Edwards and Concordia Universities in Austin, Texas.