Jan Burke - Sweet Dreams, Irene

“Irene, tell me. Where’s the journal?”

I thought of them putting Sammy’s heart on my front porch.

He rolled the dice. I didn’t look.

Raney laughed. “Five.” He set the lantern down and handed something to Devon. I saw then that it was a piece of rubber hose. Devon tapped it in his hand.

Raney picked up the soup bowl and moved it by the door. The whole time, I heard the hose tapping. Raney grabbed my wrists and pulled them over my head. He rolled me over.

The tapping stopped. I heard the hose whistle and then, as if coming from someone else, heard myself cry out as the first blow landed between my shoulder blades.

He waited.

Tap, tap, tap. “Come on, Irene. Tell me. Where is it?”

I didn’t answer.

By the time they left the room, I was drenched in sweat and trembling. Sleep was impossible now.

I wondered how much more I would be able to take. I also wondered if I would be able to force myself to do whatever would be necessary to escape. I remembered what Sarah had said to me – you do what you need to do to survive.

Sleep still eluded me, although I would have welcomed it. I was quickly learning the importance of keeping my mind occupied. Left to wander, it concentrated on my injuries, on emotions I was holding in check, on all that was hopeless in this situation.

So instead, I thought about a sequence of events in Las Piernas that seemed to fit together: Jack Fremont shows up in town, and is reconciled with his mother and son. Shortly after this, the coven changes under the influence of a mysterious stranger and his two assistants.

Mrs. Fremont changes her will. She’s murdered.

Sammy sees the Goat’s forearm. She’s murdered.

I’m seen taking some of Sammy’s things from the shelter – no, I’m still alive. Start over.

No matter how I looked at it, things changed when Jack Fremont came back to Las Piernas. “I don’t care who his mother was,” Devon had said. Could he mean Jack? No one had benefitted from her will as much as Jack. Murray had told me the property was worth a fortune.

“She’s mine.” I thought of the way he had flirted with me in the kitchen.

I allowed my thoughts to go back to Frank. I realized that even my pride could not sustain me much longer through this ordeal, but my desire to be with him again would. Some small article of faith was left in me: I would live. My life with him was not over. I would endure this. I slept at last.

I DON’T REMEMBER the nightmare that made me wake up screaming. Maybe the pain had just finally had its way with me.

The door opened and Raney entered with the lantern. He stood there awhile before I was awake enough to realize he was pointing a gun at me. Devon pushed past him and knelt beside me.

“She’s just had a bad dream, Raney. Put the gun away.”

Raney put the lantern down, smirking at me. He picked up the bucket and carried it out, leaving Devon with me. Gradually, I gathered my wits enough to calm myself. Devon knelt there, staring at me. “You’re so pretty,” he said.

I hadn’t seen my reflection, but I could imagine what I looked like – hair chopped off, face bruised, fat lip, and one eye swollen shut. I laughed. It wasn’t much of a laugh, but he heard it.

He seemed offended. “I’m not making a joke. Even like this,” he said, stroking a finger under my chin, “you’re still pretty.” He kept staring at me, and I felt fear tugging at me again.

Raney came back in with the bucket and picked up the lantern. “Leave her alone, Devon, or he’ll have your hide.”

“Fuck him,” Devon muttered, but he stood up.

“Next time,” Raney said, “you get the bucket. I’ve done it twice now while you sat around getting a hard-on for that bitch.”

They left the room. My mouth felt dry and I couldn’t seem to make myself breathe normally. My mind kept burrowing down into my fears. So I concentrated on my ankle, on my back. It was easier. Pain had an edge to it, a place where it began and ended.

I HAD NOT FORGOTTEN that the Goat had said to play the dice three times a day, so it was not a surprise when they entered the room again later that night. At least, I told myself, it will be the last time until morning. Raney’s turn again. The bastard rolled double sixes.

IT WAS COLD the next morning, and I awoke stiff and sore, but the swelling in my right eye had gone down a little, so that now I could see out of both eyes. The knot on the back of my head had gone down some, too, and I wasn’t dizzy. I still hurt all over, but once I got past the first few minutes, I felt a little comfort in waking up at all. I had made it through a day.

I heard Raney tell Devon that he would be right back, heard the front door open and the sound of the truck or the Blazer driving off. I worried about being left alone with Devon, then turned to more constructive thoughts. I tried moving around the room as much as I could, trying to warm myself. I moved along the walls, still hopping, since I learned that I couldn’t quite force myself to put any pressure on the right ankle. I was going to stay off of it or risk passing out. I felt better as I moved. I even managed another look out of the window, and discovered Raney had taken the truck. I decided I would try to learn the difference in the sounds the two vehicles made. It might not help me in any way, but it was another distraction from captivity.

Before long, though, I was worn out, and made my way back to the mattress. I had a plan, but I would need more strength to make it work. It would be hard between dice robbing me of sleep and nothing more than a bowl of chicken broth to eat.

Raney came back. He stomped into the house. As usual, they made no attempt to keep me from hearing what they had to say – I was, after all, expendable. A temporary diversion.

“We’re fucked. Just plain fucked.”

“What happened, Raney?”

“He has a tail on him.”

I felt hope rising. Catch him, I prayed. If I die, at least let them catch him.

“Shit!” Devon swore and paced. “I tell you, Raney – we ought to do her and just get the hell out of here now.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Let’s think about it.” They were quiet for a moment. Raney’s voice was cool and even when he spoke again. “Maybe it’s time for an insurance payment.”

“Which one?”

“I say we go for the big boy. Put the blanket right under the Pony Player’s nose.”

I listened more closely, puzzled.

Devon snorted in derision. “It doesn’t have to be under his nose. He’ll find it before the cops do. It really reeks. It’s got that witch’s blood all over it.”

“No, he won’t find it. Keep it wrapped up in that garbage bag. Put another one around it just to make sure. Besides, even if he finds it first, he’s not home free. We’ve got the knife.”

“What does Einstein say about the tail?”

Einstein, I knew by now, was the Goat.

“He’s got some plan where I go down and pick him up tomorrow morning. He doesn’t want to take his car anywhere. He thinks we can pull it off. He’s probably right, but like I said, I want some insurance,” Raney replied.

“The knife would be better.”

“Don’t worry about that now. Leave that to Einstein. He’ll figure out a good place to hide it.”

“I don’t know…”

“Look, Devon, let’s face it. He’s smart. We wouldn’t have thought of cutting the Pony Player, getting his blood on the blanket and the knife.”

So the Pony Player was not just another name for the Goat, I thought.

Devon laughed. “That scared the shit out of the Pony Player. He’s not so tough.”

“No, and our boy knows it. Like I said, he’s smart. Now – you know where to find the Pony Player?”