Em Garner - Contaminated

I’m babbling, but Dillon just nods and takes my elbow with a glance toward the dining room. He seats me at one of the dining room chairs and takes the one across from me. He sits with my knees between his, his hands holding mine. His hands are big and warm.

I look at him. “My mom had gone away. She knew she was getting sick. She left. We didn’t… I thought she’d be back.”

It sounds so stupid now to say it, but Dillon only nods again.

“It was just me and Opal. The power was going on and off, on and off. We could hear sirens and smell smoke. I tried listening to the radio but there wasn’t much, just that emergency warning system thing they had running all the time back then.”

Dillon remembers this, of course. His hands squeeze mine. I’m grateful for the touch.

“Anyway, it was cold. Not like it had been in the summer, when it started. It was starting to get cold, so I went out in the backyard to get some sticks. We had wood from the woodpile, but no kindling. It was getting dark and Opal was inside, watching a movie on her portable DVD player, since the power had gone out again. We thought it would be back on soon. I mean, it usually did come back on. Anyway, I was picking up sticks. And the man came out from behind a tree.”

“A Connie?”

I shook my head. “No. He looked scuffed up, his clothes torn, beard stubble, like that. His hands were rough. I remember that his hands were rough.”

“Did he hurt you, Velvet?” Dillon sounds angry, and he squeezes my hands again.

“He tried.”

“What happened?”

I take a deep breath. This is like pulling off a bandage, or more like a scab. It’s going to hurt, and ugly stuff’s going to come out, but it will heal better in the end. “He grabbed me. He was muttering something about the end of the world. Well, we all thought that, huh? And it didn’t end. I don’t know if he was crazy, or just bad. I didn’t recognize him, anyway, though that doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve lived a few houses down, or he could’ve been from far away. It doesn’t matter. He put his hands on me, and his voice changed. He called me names.”

Dillon doesn’t ask me to repeat them, and I don’t want to. They’re the names men use to hurt women, but that man didn’t know me. They didn’t matter.

“He started… trying…” I swallow hard and my voice drops to a whisper. “I had a little hand ax with me. To cut the kindling.”

Dillon frowns. He passes his thumbs over the backs of my hands. When he shifts, our knees touch.

“I buried it in his stomach,” I say, and wait for Dillon’s face to twist with disgust.

It doesn’t. “You’re amazing, Velvet, do you know that?”

“Why? Because I killed a man?” My voice is small.

Hard. I turn my hands in his so our palms press together.

“Because you’ve done all this, everything, and you keep going. You’re so brave. And you came out of that doorway with that hammer.…”

“I could’ve hurt you!”

“But you didn’t,” Dillon says. “And if I’d been someone bad, someone trying to hurt your mom and Opal, you’d have protected them. You’re amazing. And beautiful. And brave. And strong.”

I hitch in a breath. Dillon barely knows me, but I can’t deny that what he’s saying feels good. “I killed him and left him out in the woods. When the soldiers came the next day, they found him. They asked me who he was, but they didn’t ask me if I killed him. And I didn’t tell them.”

“I don’t blame you. Listen, Velvet, lots of people had to do things they aren’t proud of. It’s been a bad year and a half.”

“Have you?” I’m not sure what I want him to say. If I want him to be like me, or if I’d rather he has stayed clean.

Dillon frowns. “I’ve had to do bad things, sure.”

“Kill someone?” My voice rasps. “Have you had to do that?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “But I’m not sorry you did it, just sorry you had to do it.”

“It doesn’t just go away,” I tell him. “Even if you pretend it didn’t happen, or you don’t think about it. It doesn’t go away. Not ever. Dillon, I was so angry, so scared, I just hit out at him. I killed him because I could.”

“Because he was attacking you,” Dillon says quietly.

It’s my turn to shake my head. “Because I could. I was able. Because I felt I had no other choice. It’s the way the Connies are. They do what they do because they don’t know how to stop themselves, and they can.”

“You’re not a Connie, Velvet.”

I tell him something else I’ve never shared with anyone. “I drank ThinPro, Dillon. Not a lot of it. I wanted to wear a bikini that summer, because the popular girls did. My parents had cases of it all over the place, even though both of them told me it wasn’t for me, that I didn’t need to lose weight or anything like that. So I snuck some.”

I think we both know what that means, or could mean. It’s a weight I’ve been carrying with me for over a year and it’s only gotten heavier over the past couple of months.

“You’re not a Connie,” Dillon says again. With my hands in his and his eyes staring into mine, I can believe him. At least for those few moments. We both know that could change, possibly at any moment. We just don’t know. Nobody does. But for now he’s right.

“Thanks.”

He smiles. “You’re welcome.”

I remember Craig and hang my head. I sigh. It’s my turn to squeeze Dillon’s fingers. “There’s a body in my basement.”

“What?”

I look up. “I found it just a while ago. It’s our neighbor. He’s been dead for a while.”

I can tell by the look on his face that Dillon thinks I’m joking. He doesn’t let go of my hands, though. He just tilts his head like he’s trying to figure me out. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” I want to laugh again, though it’s not funny.

“Did you…?”

“No.”

Dillon looks relieved, something I can’t blame him for. “So what are you gonna do?”

“I guess I should call someone.” There will be a lot of questions I don’t want to answer. The police will come and do what? Take him away? Maybe take me and Opal away, too, make us leave. “I don’t want the cops to come.”

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.” He doesn’t make it sound bad.

“Will you help me get him out of there? I don’t want Opal to see.”

He nods after a second, though he still looks wary. “Sure. Of course.”

Again, a weight is lifted. Having Dillon here is more than just tingly and delicious, like a cute boy stopping over to say hi. He’s making me feel better about everything.

“Let me serve them dinner first. Get them settled. Then we can keep them distracted and do it, okay?”

“Okay. What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti?” I’m already standing. My legs don’t feel wobbly, but I don’t let go of Dillon’s hands.

He doesn’t let go of me, either. “Enough for one more?”

“Of course.”

We stand there staring at each other like idiots, until Opal shouts, “Hey! What’s for dinner?”

Then we laugh and our hands unlink, not like they’re breaking apart but more like they’re just easing into a separation that could end at any moment, bringing our fingers back together. We work together in the kitchen, and I discover there are lots of things I like about Dillon besides his hair and eyes and smile. He tells good jokes and stories. He keeps Opal occupied. He even figures out how to set up the TV and DVD player so she and my mom can watch a movie, since there’s nothing but snow on the regular channels.

“How long will your genny last?” he asks after we’ve washed the dishes and made our secret way down to the basement.