Joshua Graham - Terminus

The silence is the worst part of all.

That’s why she watches TV, but she’s had all she can stand for tonight. She’s about to start reading when she hears something behind the door. It’s a soft sound but it’s clear.

Momma’s crying.

Panicked, she runs to rap on the door.

“Momma, please! Open the door!” She’s threatened to hurt herself before and Daddy says never to push her to that point. So she can’t open the door. But she’s sick of Momma’s sulking, feeling sorry for herself all the time, being mean to her and Daddy. Yet at the same time she feels desperately sorry for her mother—she’s never known anybody so unhappy. Why is she so sad, so upset with them?

Daddy gave her the number where he’s staying in case of an emergency. She’ll call him, that’s what she’ll do.

He sounds exhausted when he says hello.

“Daddy? Something’s wrong with Momma.”

“She come out of the—“

“She’s crying.”

“I’m coming back now.” His voice is dead calm. “Be about forty minutes, make sure she don’t—”

“I know. Hurry, please.”

Just as she drops the handset in the cradle, a sound from behind sends an chill up her spine.

It’s the squeak of the bedroom doorknob. She turns around slowly.

“Momma?”

She’s standing in the doorway, in a dress so white it almost glows. Her beautiful eyes are wet with tears. And for the first time ever, her arms open wide to receive her daughter.

“Momma!” All at once she wants to cry, laugh, shout for joy. Is that a smile on her mother’s face? Even through the tears? “Oh, Momma. I’m so happy you—”

She puts a finger over her daughter’s lips.

“Shhhh…” She strokes the hair so much like her own. Can it be? Is Momma finally going to love her? And Daddy?

“Punkin’,” Momma says, and her daughter’s heart soars. “I’m afraid it’s not what you think.”

Oh, no. No! She dreads what’s coming.

“I’m leaving.”

Pushing away hard, she steps back—burning with rage. She can hear Daddy warning her to control it. She can’t bear to look at her mother.

“I thought I could do it, my child. But I just can’t. It’s too…it’s impossible. I am what I am, and nothing can change that.”

“But why do you have to leave us?”

“This life—if it even is a life—is just too limiting. I’m meant to be so much more. I thought I could give it up for your father, but I was deceiving myself. ”

“But you could, if you loved us. I know Daddy says we can’t force you to stay, but if you loved us you would. That’s what mothers DO, they stay for their family, for their children!”

Momma shakes her head. “I would if I could. I can’t. I’m sorry.” She looks exhausted, and sadder than ever.

“So that’s why you been so mean to us? You’re bored with living like us? Or is it because Daddy’s a nigger?” The provincial speech she’s worked so hard at dropping has returned with a vengeance. “Why, you just like them white people, ain’t you?”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Punkin’.”

“No! You don’t get to call me that! Only Daddy does. You—you’re just a selfish, stone-hearted…ugh! I hate you!”

Straightening until she stands only as tall as her remarkably tall daughter, Momma nonetheless seems to be looking down on her.

“One day perhaps you’ll realize you shouldn’t have judged me so harshly.” She glides slowly back to the bedroom door. “After all, you’re just like me. You’ll see. There’s no hope. Every part of you that’s a freak to these human insects, every part that makes you different…” She regards her daughter with pity. “You’re just…like…me.”

With that, she shuts the door.

Never to be seen again.

ALERTED BY THE SOUND OF THE SEDAN, Lito turned and saw it coming at him, saw the gun pointed from the passenger seat window. He grabbed Raul by the arm.

“Get down!” he shouted.

Raul didn’t.

Instead, he seized Lito by the arms and put him in a choke hold just as the car screeched to a halt.

“Raul, what the hell—”

He didn’t answer, just tightened his grip. Lito thought he would pass out any moment.

A man in dark glasses was still pointing a gun through the sedan’s passenger window. The back door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out smoking a cigarette, his beige shirt unbuttoned nearly to his considerable belly. It was Pablo Suarez, better known as Pablo the Gutter not because of his ample midsection or his foul mouth but because of his penchant for disemboweling anyone who displeased him sufficiently. He puffed a cloud of smoke into Lito’s face.

“Carlito Guzman. Mind if I call you Lito?”

“Mind if I call you hijo de puta ?” Lito struggled, but Raul squeezed harder.

Pablo chortled, then began to cough violently. When he caught his breath, he spit the cigarette out and lit another one.

“I swear, these things will be the death of me.”

“In that case, please, smoke some more,” Lito said.

Again Pablo coughed, but it passed quickly this time.

“Now, Lito, I’ll make it simple. Things are changing, of course you know this. The Hernandez branch is all but ours now. Why don’t you turn it over to us quietly, hmmm? So much cleaner, without all the bloodshed, no?”

“Why don’t you go to hell, no?”

“After you.” From his breast pocket he pulled a knife and pressed the point into Lito’s neck. “But I think we take you there the slow way, hmmm?”

Lito’s entire body stiffened as Pablo the Gutter slid the blade past his collarbone, the middle of his ribcage, then rested it just above his belt. He wanted to curse Raul for his betrayal and spit in Pablo’s face, but at the moment words could no more escape his mouth than he could escape his traitorous bodyguard’s grip.

“You only have yourself to blame for this, pobre Carlito. It’s your weakness, all this trying to do good and do right. We run businesses, amigo, not charities.”

Even as the tip of the blade pressed through his shirt, Lito managed to summon the strength to speak.

“If you do this, there will be a war. Too many people on both sides will die.”

“Ah, but that line is not so clear any more now. You really don’t know how many of yours are ready to cross the street and join us, do you? Now, that is funny!”

Lito thrashed about only to be met with increased pressure on his throat from Raul’s vise grip. He couldn’t breathe. All he could see through his tear-blurred eyes was Pablo coiling the knife back.

It was like trying to hold gallons of water in his bare hands. No matter how carefully Nick tried to manipulate the current state of his existence relative to the physical speed of the events unfolding before him, he couldn’t keep time from plowing forward. Having watched the whole scene at a fraction of the speed of mortal perception, he realized that the large man holding the knife was within inches of stabbing Lito Guzman in the stomach. His bodyguard was holding him in place for the kill.

Nick rushed over.

Though he remained invisible, Lito was looking in his direction, It almost seemed he was pleading for help. Nick knew exactly what he was supposed to do, or rather not do. Yet another order that made no sense to him.

The expression on Lito’s face wasn’t so much fear as sadness. And he tried hard to hold his head straight despite being in a chokehold. Whatever the reason, this man Nick had been assigned to protect was now supposed to die. But he couldn’t just stand there and let it happen the way he had with Clara.