Fic: Blue Alibi, Part IV
The Bathroom
When they flung open the screen door and plunged back into the yellow light of the parlor, there was nothing to see.
The Nixes had disappeared, the guitar, flute, and violins thrown on the sofa. But wailing from upstairs guided the men in that direction.
That and the trail of blood dotting the wooden planks leading to the steps.
Three sisters crowded into the little bathroom, their white shoulders and shorn heads pressed together like a fleshy wall blocking Fusco and Reese’s view.
Reese pushed Megan aside and angled forward grasping Vivienne by the back of the neck to force her out of the way.
Then, craning around Reese’s body, Fusco could see that it was Allison bent over the porcelain sink, her left cheek striped with a mix of bright red blood and tears.
Ondine held her sister by the waist, rocking back and forth, bending over her back in a protective stance.
“Fuck! What happened, Allie?”
Fusco hadn’t meant to shout, but the brute noise shut down the wailing and focused the sisters on him.
Then Vivienne spoke in a high-pitched tone, her short sentences sketching the scene, while the others chanted in an affirmative wall of sound that filled the tiled room.
“He didn’t do it on purpose. Not exactly.”
“Yes.”
“She played the note wrong, missed the entrance on the phrase.”
“Yes.”
“And when he slapped her his ring caught in her earring.”
“Yes.”
“It just pulled away and tore and then the blood started spurting everywhere.”
“Yes.”
As the women gasped and cried, Fusco felt the horror rising in his gut. He thought he might vomit.
Even though the bleeding had stopped, the blue towel draped around Allison’s neck was sticky and he thought he could smell the metallic stench of her blood. A livid purple welt rose along her cheekbone, oozing.
The din grew unbearable and he knotted all of his nerves together to stop from pounding a fist into the wall.
During this weird recitation, Reese worked with grim determination, first peeling Ondine away from her sister, then gripping Allison’s chin and pressing her head to the side to look closely at the damaged ear. He passed a damp washcloth over Allison’s face and ear for a clearer view of the split lobe.
He had been silent for so long that his order startled the others, whispered under the droning cries rather than barked or shouted.
“Megan, bring the sewing kit. Now.”
How Reese knew they even had a sewing kit was a mystery, but without comment Megan left the bathroom, returning quickly with a lidded yellow basket, flourishing a needle already laced with white thread.
With a few strokes, he sewed the torn flaps of skin together, two shallow stitches on the front, two more on the back of the earlobe. As his long fingers slipped across Allison’s skin, darting this way and that in a practiced pattern, his mouth narrowed in concentration.
He left the tails of the thread dangling down like white feathers almost touching the blood-splotched strap of her pale green dress. When Reese looked up, his eyes were rimmed in red.
“Lionel, you take her to the hospital tomorrow morning. These stitches will hold for the night, stop the bleeding. But they can do a better repair job there.”
It was a command, cool and logical. But that arc of engagement was too distant. Fusco wanted to act, now.
“Sure thing, I’ll do that. But first I’m going to beat his fucking face in. The goddamn fucking bastard…”
“No. You won’t.”
Even here Reese was in charge and his orders stood.
“You settle Allison for the night, Lionel. That’s your job now, your only job.”
He stared at Fusco until agreement was reached.
“I’ll make sure the others get back safely to their quarters. You take Allison to bed and you stay there with her, understand?”
Fusco looked around the little room.
Ondine was slumped on the closed toilet seat staring up at her older sisters. In the doorway, Megan and Vivienne were holding each other, arms twined around waists, foreheads touching. Their eyes were huge, the whites glowing brighter than the tile on the walls. Their mouths were turned down and gaping.
He studied Reese, whose forearms were splattered with Allison’s blood, eyes shining like flint from beneath the dark overhang of his brow.
He was sure that if Reese came across Anthony Nix that night, the old man would pay for his sins with his life.
The Bed
Despite his suggestion, Allison didn’t want to put on a nightgown. So Fusco slipped naked under the sheets behind her and pressed her cool body to his.
In the thin moonlight, her arms looked silvery, fragile. He could just make out the white threads trailing from her earlobe. They blended in with the soft curls of her hair, all foamy white spread over the pillow.
He thought she would want to go right to sleep, but the waves shuddering through her body wouldn’t subside.
With the window open, they could hear Reese walking with her sisters back to their studios. Though the murmured phrases were indistinct, the sounds rippling light or deep through the night air were comforting.
After a while she spoke, her voice quavering and low.
“You know, what Daddy said at dinner wasn’t true. About me, I mean.”
Fusco squeezed his arms around her waist and said, “I know,” although he wasn’t sure quite what she meant.
After a long pause, she went on.
“I’m not available. Not to John, not to anyone. I don’t want anyone but you, Lionel.”
She turned in the circle of his arms then, pressing her mouth to his throat.
“And what he said about drugs. I - I was for a while. Coke, then Molly. It made me feel unplanned, invincible, relaxed. Smart, you know?
“But that was before you. Before things got better. I don’t do that anymore. Not once since we’ve been together, Lionel. Please believe me.”
He could feel hot tears dripping down his chest. He wanted to make her stop crying. To make her understand that he had never believed her father’s nasty words.
“I do, Allie. I do.”
He was surprised when her hand slipped down his torso, stroking over his chest and his stomach. He always felt like a big clumsy lug with her, like he might hurt her or crush her when things got heated up.
And now, with her injury, his fears doubled. He didn’t want to jar her, re-open the stitches, cause more bleeding. After this tough night, he was happy just to lie with her, soothing her to sleep with soft words and gentle touches.
But she was the eager one now, her movements fast and sure.
Urging him on, molding his erection in her palm, guiding his hand to her breast. She seemed fearless and determined now. Her lips were everywhere, printing liquid patterns over his skin, her mouth and hands caressing him, steering him where she wanted to go.
He had never had sad sex before.
Before this night, he would have said that combination was impossible. But here he was, feeling close to tears himself, listening to her moans like animal sobs when she pressed her lips close to his ear.
As he sank into her it felt like sliding into a molten stream, so heated, changing as he flowed along, drawn onward by her desire. He wanted this swirling and sinking, this drowning to go on forever. He felt so strong, so moored in her rhythmic embrace.
He couldn’t lose the sadness, it stayed coiled around them; but he could submerge it for a moment, leaving it unnamed and harmless.
When she came she overwhelmed him, rushing the somber tide of his own orgasm to a sighing conclusion.
He wanted to say he loved her then.
But seeing the stitches in her earlobe reminded him of all the ugliness of that night. He wanted to save his words for a calmer time. A safer moment when she would believe he meant them.
Just as he drifted off, he heard careful footsteps in the hall and the snick of the light switch in the bathroom. Then a few minutes later came the faint swoosh of the sliding door as Reese sealed himself into the study for the night.
The Bedroom
It was so quiet at Ionia Plaisance that Fusco had fallen into the habit of waking with the sun.
Without the white noise of city traffic and the chatter of passing strangers on the sidewalk, he found it hard to sleep past dawn even on a Saturday. Instead, he heard roosters crowing, goats snuffling, chickens clucking, flowering bushes rustling.
With all that commotion, he couldn’t fall back asleep even if he wanted.
The breeze ruffling the pink curtains in Allison’s bedroom tickled the hairs on his chest, cooling him slightly as he turned away from her warm body. When he got up he moved slowly so as not to disturb her, figuring the troubles of the previous night should be kept away from her for another hour if he could manage it.
He pulled on his khaki shorts and stood for a moment at the open window.
Across the hard dirt surface of the back yard he could see the elaborate chicken coop. With its white clapboard siding and black roof, it was designed to imitate the main farm house in every detail, even down to the little covered porch.
As he looked down, Reese emerged from the hen house, walking beside one of the Nix sisters.
He was dressed in his dark trousers and white shirt, the same ones from last night, Fusco figured.
The woman beside him wore a broad brimmed straw hat colored dark blue with a pale blue ribbon wrapped around its crown.
The hat was so wide that as she and Reese strolled toward the back door Fusco was not able to figure out which Nix was underneath.
He could see her outfit - she was wearing cut-off jeans, a white cotton t-shirt, and tan work boots. He could make out the pointed cones of her breasts and the flexing muscles of her bare thighs. But from his high vantage point, her face, as she turned toward Reese in animated conversation, was completely hidden. Fusco realized then that he couldn’t tell the sisters apart.
Reese was carrying a large basket filled with eggs -- brown, blue, white ones with tan freckles.
This domestic sight was so unprecedented that Fusco vowed to report back to Carter and Finch as soon as he returned to the city. But by the time he thought to grab his cell phone to record the cozy scene, the two had passed onto the porch and through the screen door.
Fusco took his time showering and dressing. Allison’s shampoo smelled nice in the tiny shower stall and he didn’t feel like hurrying to rejoin the clan just yet.
When he arrived at last in the kitchen, Reese was installed at the gas stove casually turning omelets in an ancient cast iron skillet.
Allison had joined her three sisters and they were chirping away at the long pine table, waiting patiently for Reese to serve them their breakfast eggs, made to order. Their father was not around.
“What’ll it be, Lionel? With cheese or without?”
Reese seemed unnaturally cheerful for so early in the morning. His hair was still wet and slicked back, his eyes were bright and challenging. If this was a performance, he was doing a Broadway good job of it.
The butter sizzled deliciously, deepening in color from yellow to gold when he tipped the skillet from side to side like some kind of celebrity chef on TV.
“You can have cheddar, Emmental, feta, or American.” Reese sipped coffee from a white mug as he waved a hand toward four bowls filled with cheese shavings or crumbles.
“And Lionel, we will judge you depending on what you pick, so choose wisely!” Reese grinned at him with all his teeth.
“Yeah, well good morning to you, too!”
It was way too early in the day to get into any kind of spitting contest with Wonderboy.
Reese’s perky fan club giggled at this exchange, their thin fingers fluttering in front of their mouths.
Fusco saw that the sisters all wore blue denim shorts cut so high the pockets peeked out from the ragged hems. Their white t-shirts were speckled with paint, or dried clay, or developing fluids, and one was torn at the neck. And four pairs of tan work boots were lined up next to the screen door.
Confirming the predictions of the peanut gallery at the table, Fusco chose American.
Though they laughed and clapped at their success, he thought that the four women all showed signs of the toll of the previous night. Blotches of blue or purple spilled under their pale eyelids; their lips seemed chapped and dry.
And the wicked bruise across Allison’s cheek had turned a dull red. Its irregular edges of yellow and blue pointed toward the damaged ear lobe and the white threads fluttering there.