Jan Burke - Sweet Dreams, Irene

There was no stream or creek in sight, but I had heard it through the other wall, and imagined it ran behind the cabin.

Before long, I had to give up my view. I could hear Devon and Raney moving around in the other room, and my efforts had left me dizzy. I hopped down from my perch, nearly losing my balance, but held to the walls and made my way along them. The door opened just as I laid back down on the mattress.

“Well, look who’s up.” Raney had a grin on his face I didn’t like. “Tie her up, Devon. If you think you can handle her.”

Devon scowled. Behind him, through the open door, I could see a kitchen. He closed the door and came over to me. He rolled me on to my stomach. He tied my hands together behind my back, then roughly pulled me up by my shoulders and on to my knees. The room swayed before me; I had trouble focusing.

Raney moved in front of me. He held up a pair of dice between his fingers. “You get a choice. Talk, or we play dice. Where’s the journal?”

My mouth was dry, so I could only speak in a rasping whisper. “You boys are being taken for a ride.”

He punched me hard across the mouth, and I fell over.

Devon laughed. “That counts as one, Raney.”

Raney laughed as well. The fall to the mattress brought me close to passing out, and a blinding pain raged in my head.

The dice rattled in Raney’s hand. “Hear that? Hear that, bitch? That’s your fate rattling around in my hand. Let’s see what it’s going to be.” He continued shaking them, watching me. “Look at her, Devon. She doesn’t have a clue, does she? It’s the last time you’ll see that look. After this, she’ll know.”

He threw them. They tumbled to the floor and came to rest at the edge of the mattress. A five and a three. I was beginning to get the picture even before Devon hauled me to my feet.

“Remember, Raney – it’s seven now,” he said.

“One last chance,” Raney said. “Where’s the journal?”

I didn’t reply.

“That ankle don’t look too good,” he said, and kicked it. I felt the cold sweat cover me, felt the color go from my face, felt my knees give – but I didn’t make a sound. They were laughing.

“Bend her over the bucket. She looks like she might puke.”

“If she does, you’re hauling it out of here.”

“Fair’s fair. Moderation from here on out, then.”

He landed six more blows, one to my right eye, the rest to my ribs. They untied me and left me hanging on to the bucket. I hadn’t wanted to give them the satisfaction, but I got sick into it anyway.

They laughed again. I fought off my sense of shame. It was difficult.

Devon stood next to me, and I was expecting it to be his turn, but to my surprise, he very gently lifted me off the floor and set me back down on the mattress. He got up and went into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. He pulled the bucket over next to me and propped me up.

“Rinse your mouth.”

I did. Raney walked out with the bucket.

Devon held me, softly stroking my forehead and hair. When he spoke, his voice was soothing and quiet. “It doesn’t have to be this way, you know. You’re so pretty, but he’ll ruin your face. I don’t like it, but he will. You should talk to us. I know you don’t want to yet. But you already know you will. Save yourself the pain, Irene.”

It was the first time one of them had used my name.

It’s just a trick, I told myself.

I should have been repulsed by his touch, but the small kindnesses of those few minutes brought me closer to tears than the blows had. I made myself retreat farther inside myself.

It’s all part of their method. Survive.

Raney came in with the bucket and a metal bowl with a handle on it. He set it next to the bed. It was some kind of broth. He looked down at us and laughed.

“Jesus, Devon, next you’ll be feeling her up. Come on, leave her alone.”

Devon eased my head back down to the mattress and they left. The aroma of hot chicken broth came from the bowl. I moved myself over to it. I drank it, maneuvering the bowl around my now tender and swollen lips. It was warm and good. I lay back and let the tears fall, but made no noise. I would not let them hear me. I fell asleep crying.

IAWOKE TO HEAR THEM arguing loudly. The room was darkening, so I figured I must have slept about three or four hours.

“Look, he knows what he’s doing. When they sell the old lady’s land we’ll all be rich,” said Raney, losing patience with Devon.

“I just don’t like waiting around. What if he just takes off and calls the cops on us? We’re sitting ducks.”

“Nah, then we spill our guts to the cops. Even the Pony Player would go down then, and they know it.”

Pony Player? I wondered who this new nickname referred to. Was this another name for the Goat?

“I still don’t like it,” Devon said. “I don’t care who his mother was, it pisses me off when he hits me like that. I don’t like taking crap off him all the time. ‘Devon, don’t think. I’m the Einstein around here.’ Well, what have we got to show for it? A murder rap, that’s what.”

They were quiet for a moment, apparently brooding over that possibility. I lay there, wondering about what they had said, when I heard Raney’s voice again.

“Don’t get yourself all wound up like this, Devon. What’s that you’re reading?”

“It’s about cancer. I picked it up at this clinic on my way back from the store.”

“What clinic? And why the hell are you reading about cancer?”

“Place where they take skiers who break legs, stuff like that. Old geezer runs it. Told him I knew someone with cancer and I wanted to get something to read about it. He gave me this little booklet.”

“Christ, Devon, you are un-fucking-believable! We’re supposed to be lying low. We’re not supposed to make any trouble in town or get ourselves known around here. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t contagious.”

“Shit, Devon, I could have told you that. You worry about the weirdest shit, man. You think I’d ever let you catch something like that from somebody? I look after you, don’t I? How come you didn’t just ask me?”

“‘Cause you ain’t no doctor. How would I know you were right?”

“Oh man – I can’t believe the stuff you come up with sometimes. Don’t let him know you did this. Please, Devon – I don’t like it when he hits you, but you keep pulling this kind of shit and he’ll be all over your ass.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care! There’s nothing wrong with it!”

I heard one of them storm out the front door, slamming it hard. Devon, I thought. It was quiet then.

I lay there thinking of a plan to escape. Then I thought about Frank, wishing I could send messages to him by mental telepathy, to let him know I was alive. Silly really, but I wanted to talk to him so badly, I felt a hollow ache over it. Finally, I fell back to sleep.

IT WAS DARK when they came into the room again. Light spilled from the kitchen through the doorway, where one of them stood in silhouette. I could hear the dice rattling.

“Irene.”

It was Devon. I didn’t answer.

“Irene, tell me where the journal is.”

Raney stepped in behind him carrying a propane lantern, which cast long shadows on the walls and ceiling. He had something in his other hand – I couldn’t see what it was.

“Tell me, Irene. You know I don’t want to have to do this. Don’t make me do it, please don’t. Come on, Irene, tell me who has Sammy’s journal.”

This man is not your friend, I told myself. Say anything and they will kill you. Stay alive.

Stay alive, I repeated to myself, as he squatted down next to me.