Kathleen Hale - No One Else Can Have You

I reach into my backpack for the bear spray Ralph gave me, and make sure the nozzle’s pointed in the right direction. Then I swing open the closet door.

Ralph is standing six feet away, holding the machete, and as he raises it above his head, I empty the entire contents of the can, covering his face with swirling, orange designs.

“Farggh!” Ralph screams. He grabs his face and staggers back against the bedroom door, dropping the machete. I grab the soap case from my backpack. If Staake isn’t coming, then maybe an exploding mailbox will get someone’s attention. I wince and squeeze the detonator.

Shrapnel hits the windows downstairs, shattering the glass—but you can barely hear it above the thunder outside. I look out the bedroom window and Ralph’s mailbox is opened up like the petals of a flower. Only none of the lights are going on in neighbors’ houses. The storm is too loud. Nobody’s waking up.

Ralph’s sprawled out blocking the bedroom door, still choking like crazy from the bear spray. He’s also in the way of my exit. I yank open one of the windows, knot my backpack straps in front of me, and swing my legs over the ledge. Two stories is a lot higher than I thought, but then I look over my shoulder and see Ralph grimace and rise to his feet, and it doesn’t look so far. He’s opened one of his eyes just a sliver, and it’s his lazy eye, rolling this way and that inside his head. The animal inside me bucks and I pitch myself over the ledge.

There’s a crack that sounds like a tree branch breaking, then pain like a firecracker from my foot to my pelvis, ricocheting up my bones. My leg is splayed out at a funny angle, and as I shift on my butt, I can hear the pieces of my phone crunching in my pocket. Rain slaps my face. I look across the street at my house.

“Dommy!” I yell.

Leaves are whipping through the dark across the grass. I scream his name louder but am drowned out by the weather. I start to drag myself to the edge of the yard, but I have to stop every few minutes because the pain in my leg is making me dizzy. I’m almost to the road when something grabs me by the hair and tugs. Before I can call out, there’s a hand clapped over my mouth, burning my lips with bear-spray residue. I bite the fingers, screaming as hard as I can, but the wind is too loud.

“You ruined my mailbox,” Ralph says into my ear, curling his fingers into my mouth until I gag. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Kippy.” He laughs—a horrible, high-pitched sound—and starts dragging me back inside. I swing around wildly, trying to scream, but hear only croaking noises.

“Davey!” I cry. Then Ralph is tearing wet grass from the lawn and stuffing grass into my mouth, choking me.

“You girls never know when to shut up. Always saying other people’s names when I’m the one right here.” He takes me by the wrists and drags me up the steps, jostling my broken leg. “What were you doing with the bear spray, Kippy, hmm?” He gives me one final yank through the door and I vomit grass onto my sweatshirt. “Those cops were supposed to take it from you.” He makes a tsk noise. “You’re too much like Ruth. She was a liar. She took the stuff I gave her and that’s supposed to mean you like somebody. But then I found her in the dark and all she said was no no no.” He slams the door.

I hear myself choking.

“Davey is dead,” he says softly, petting my hair as I spit up grass and bile onto his carpet. My throat is on fire. I look down at my leg. Shattered bone has pierced through my pajama pants and blood is soaking the fabric. I vomit again. “There are so many things I’ve had to do.” He sighs, kneeling down beside me. “You will be the first real friend I’ve ever killed.” I try to crawl to the door, but he throws me back against the wall. “Your dead soldier boyfriend probably already informed you that it gets easier. How after a while it’s like putting something out of its misery. You remember that deer, don’t you? The one we hit on the highway after Mom and Dad passed?” Anger flashes in his eyes. “And then that horrible, lonely woman—that alcoholic witch—she was a disgrace to this town. Killing her stuck with me, certainly. When I accepted her offer for a beer, she behaved as if she had found a lifelong friend. How immature. I can still see her face when she asked me to stop.” He looks at my leg and gasps, squeezing just below my knee. I scream, sounding like an animal. “Oh Kippy, does it hurt?”

I know that this is not the Ralph I know, and still I nod— yes it hurts, yes it does, please stop— because his voice is so familiar and I think that maybe he will decide I’ve endured enough.

He squeezes harder and I screech.

“Oh Kippy, you really are such a specimen. A Nordic princess,” he says, looking deep into my eyes. He lets go of my leg and takes my chin gently in his hand. “Am I correct in thinking that nobody knows where you are right now?”

I think of Mildred and Marion and begin to cry—and that’s when I hear sirens, somewhere far off in the storm. In one swift moment I both love and hate Sheriff Staake—that sweet and terrible man—because you would never turn on your sirens to come rescue someone from a killer, so he must just be coming to arrest me again.

Ralph doesn’t seem to hear them. His eyes look vacant. “With Ruth it was different,” he says. “With Ruth I had to pretend she was a witch, like in Total Escape Three. And she was, you know. It took me too long to realize how heartless she was. I gave her sweet food and she told me sweet things, and made me believe sweet things. But in the end I made her eat her words.”

I close my eyes. “What did she say?” I ask, trying to keep him talking.

“The same thing everyone says before they die. ‘No.’ ‘Please.’ ‘Stop.’” He scoffs. “It’s all so disappointing and boring—before that, though . . . before that, she lied. Once I started dragging her, she told me she liked me. But then she tried to run.”

I pretend he isn’t talking about Ruth. “It sounds like she had it coming, Ralph.” I remind myself that the excruciating pain in my leg is evidence that I’m alive. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I was polite—I asked, you know—I wanted permission. Weeks earlier I’d said, ‘Ruth, let’s hang out maybe,’ and Ruth goes, ‘Sure, Ralph, sure. Whatever.’ So instead of making plans, which is so formal in my opinion, I meet her halfway the night I know she’s coming to your house, right?”

“Right, of course.”

“And I just want her to talk to me, you know? But even though she’d already promised me, once I’m actually standing there she changes her mind—looks at me like I’m special needs. Tells me to back off. And that’s when I realized she was just a scarecrow—a fake person. A fucking cunt.” If they don’t get here soon, there won’t be any evidence that I was ever here. “Can you believe that, Kippy? I’d had it, you know, just had it. So I grabbed her and shook her and finally she started listening.”

“That’s smart,” I whisper. I have to buy time. “I mean you had to punish her, right?”

His lazy eye rolls. “I wasn’t even planning to cut her open, you know. It was only when she was hanging there that I thought, Maybe I should see what she looks like on the inside. ” His eyes change. He’s heard the sirens. He looks toward the window and looks back at me, silent.

I give him my most pleading look, and even try to smile. “Remember when your parents brushed my hair?” I whisper. Outside the windows, the sky goes yellow with lightning. “Ralph, please. I want to stay.” For a second he searches my face, his eyes bright with what I think is love. Then he grabs me by the hair, and slams my head against the wall, over and over, mimicking the way I just said, “Please.”