A Chance meeting fulfills destiny
Tap, tap, tap. Robert Mulligan mindlessly drums the
window pane. The vibration tingles his fingers as he grins from ear to ear. A
thought separates his lips like a string being pulled on a marionette. This day has been planned for months; the details
mapped out in a faded green notebook. Pages filled with words scattered among
pencil sketches, words written in perfect Catholic-school cursive. Sister
Patrice would have been proud of it if not for the words. Storm clouds roll
over the setting sun. Colors of emotions yellow, orange and blue. “I am me and
she is she,” he whispers out loud. A dog barks in the distance, pulling him
away from his sinister thoughts. He grabs his notebook and closes the door behind
him. He gets in his light-blue Buick LeSabre and drives off as it begins to
rain.
As he is driving and watching raindrops stream down
his windshield, he flashes back to growing up in the quiet West Virginia town of
Elkins. How circumstances of living with
4 sisters, an alcoholic mother and a deadbeat Dad led him to the events of
today. He remembers the Catholic
Charities organization rescuing him from his impoverished life when he was just
7 years old. They said they were saving
him from his circumstances. Events
unfolded he has yet to speak of as he spent years living with the Christian
Brothers and going to school with the Sisters of St. Brendan. They expected him
to keep it all within and be perfect. A
model student and a rescued child from the mountains where outward appearances
hid all within the soul. As a child, he
was taught to never reveal who lives deep within your thoughts. Experiences were sacred and never to be
spoken.
Meanwhile across town, a statuesque female figure
named Veda Lopez removes a black stiletto from the back of a head. A lifeless
body lies nearby. She walks across her client’s neck, and the shoe gets stuck. Licking
the blood off the shoe, she balances on her other foot and slides her shoe back
on. She smooths out her heavy black apron and licks the remaining blood from
her lips.
When she was a child, she hated being the tallest in her
class. It shut her down. She learned to withdraw from life, and her only
interaction now with society exists when she cuts hair. As she drags a headless
body across the floor, she is thankful for her height and strength. A closet
door screeches open, and chemical smells mixed with an earthy sulfur waft
through the air. She inhales it deeply into her lungs, and her body tingles
with delight. “Namaste,” she breathlessly whispers into the empty room and then
locks the door. Prior to burial, she has thanked every client she has killed for
their divinity and life. She picks up the head and licks the trickling blood
off the face. A tantalizing shiver radiates through her body. She impales the head
on a tripod set up for headshots. Picking up her shears, she begins to cut at
the head’s cortex. Wisps of black hair fall to the ground.
The Buick rolls down the highway playing CCR’s “Proud
Mary.” Robert had gotten the call from Veda in the early afternoon, and she’d
told him she would be ready for him at dusk. He had already lined the back seat
of his car with tarps. Now, it shone like a glistening ocean of blue. He
fantasizes about the body. Finally, a specimen for him to Draw, Dissect, and Divide,
fulfilling his ever-brewing fantasy to see inside.
They had first met in the back of a Sally’s Beauty
Supply. She was restocking her hair-extension adhesive. He was looking for
men’s hair color. Their eyes met, and he felt an instant connection and interdependence.
Her hollow black eyes resurrected a forbidden desire in him. He felt it rise
out of him, unlocking a secret chest. They met for coffee three days later, and
she told him her deepest secrets and about her clientele. She’d recognized that
he was one who could be trusted—he had seen her in her raw state without her
wig. He brought her to his bungalow outside of town, where they drank Shiraz
and ate prosciutto. He showed her his green notebook, and she told him she
normally buries the bodies in the woods behind her trailer. He had told her he
wanted her next client. She saw it as a mutual need destined to be fulfilled. She
set up a rental agreement for him to borrow her client for the evening, and they
outlined it in his green notebook. Then they shook hands sealing the deal.
Now, as the rain pours down on the Buick, beads of
sweat roll down Richard’s face. The sketches of detached limbs severed in half,
exposing muscles and veins, are dancing in his mind. Bumpy tissue pulled apart,
stretching across the page. His hands grasp the steering wheel harder, and his
teeth clench. “Get there faster, you bastard!” while “Bad Moon Rising” plays.
Veda gathers up the long wisps of black hair and
gently places them in a Ziplock bag. The head of her latest client is shaved
bald. Tiny trickles of blood from careless cuts ooze from the scalp, and she
licks the surface, sucking the metallic taste into her mouth. Tasting their
blood always made her feel like she was paying homage. She had always longed
for people to see beyond her alopecia. For moments following her hair removals,
she could experience someone else’s life. She dismounts the head from the tripod
and places it into the closet with the rest of the body. She unzips her bag of
hair and aligns the pieces one by one on the counter. She affixes the dark
locks to her scalp using the hair-extension glue. Her makeup needs to be
flawless, metamorphic, unlike any time before. This time is special. This time
she is sharing her moment of someone else’s self. She finishes gluing her
eyelashes and darkening her tattooed eyebrows to match her client’s. She looks
in the mirror one last time. She looks exactly like her deceased—unrecognizable
to even herself.
While Veda waits for Richard to arrive, she turns off
the lights, lays a blanket on the floor and sits in the middle drinking green
tea from a mug decorated with barber shears. The bitter taste lingers with the
honey, and she closes her eyes. Her mind relaxes and the anxiety of the day
withers away. It feels right to do this. A warm feeling overcomes her, and she
realizes she has released the contents of her bladder. The warmth surrounds her
in a cocoon and she wraps herself up in the blanket.
Richard finally arrives at the salon. Shakily, his
hand turns off the car, and he breathes in and out slowly. He’d been told where
the body could be found. He remembers the specific instructions Veda made him
write in his green notebook and he grabs the book and reviews them. Lights must
remain off. The body must be transported in a blanket out of the salon. The
salon must look untouched, clean and locked upon his departure for the Tuesday-morning
clients. The whole exchange must occur within twenty minutes, from the time he
exits the car to the body being placed in the car. He must work outside her
trailer in the designated empty hole. And last, he must delicately Draw,
Dissect, and Divide with utmost respect, taking his time to sacredly honor the
client.
He walks in the unlocked front door and pauses. Richard
is a strict rule follower from his days spent with the clergy, so he sets his
watch to twenty minutes. It is dark now, and with the lights out in the salon,
he is thankful she reminded him to bring a flashlight. A searching yellow disk beams
out onto the floor. Unfamiliar with his surroundings, he looks for the
landmarks she told him to find. Beyond the shadows, he counts out seven chairs
to the left of the sinks. He finds the body, wrapped in a gray blanket, just where
she told him to retrieve it. Carefully, he lifts the figure up into his arms. Fluids
seep from the blanket, and he feels a jolt of anticipation. “A body already
breaking down from death,” he says out loud. He backs out of the door and lays
the body on the tarp in the back seat, then goes back in and uses a towel to wipe
up the fluids on the floor. As he exits the salon, he stands in the doorway and
savors the moment.
Richard drives back onto the highway in search of Veda’s
trailer. “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” blares through the speaker. She had
told him she would be back at the trailer later that night, but he had just two
hours left with the client per their rental agreement. Her road is lined with
thick trees and consists of miles of potholes. Mud washes over the car, and for
a moment he is worried about knocking it out of alignment. Suddenly, he spots the
trailer and remembers his task. Wind chimes ring out, beckoning him, the souls
of her buried clients making their presence known. Veda had left her porch
light on as promised.
A light drizzle mists the cold night. Richard sets the
scene for his Draw, Dissect, and Divide experience. He gets the lawn chair on the
porch, setting it up out behind the trailer near an opening in the ground. From
the trunk he removes an easel, a large canvas, watercolor paints, scalpel,
tweezers, torn white rags, chain saw, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker.
He places the gray blanket next to the hole and sets
up his Drawing space. He first sketches the outline of the blanket. It takes on
the shape of a crescent moon. He takes a swig of whiskey and carefully unwraps
the body. Taking note of her warnings about its condition, he finds it
overwhelmingly beautiful. The smells of sweet honey and ammonia linger in the
air. He sketches the client’s feet, delighted to find them exposed and barefoot.
Removing the client’s pants, exposing the bare flesh of legs, he finds himself
giddy. He draws her legs with elongated calves and knees up to her navel. Every
crevice is captured, and half the bottle of Johnnie Walker is gone. He
unbuttons the shirt and exposes bare breasts. Running his hands over them, he
nearly forgets to draw. “Stay on task. Time is of the essence,” he yells to no
one. The client’s arms are drawn from fingertip to shoulder. He is alarmed at
the face, which looks almost melted. She had warned him about the condition of
the body. He captures the smears and smudges in his drawing and feverishly
rushes the ending to get to the Dissection.
He finds himself wanting to know more about the
client. To see the inside of someone. His entire life he has yearned for a
closeness that goes beyond surface appearances. “Where to start?” he whispers
aloud. He runs back to his car, realizing he forgot his green notebook. Opening
to page eighteen, he sees the details he had laid out. First incision up the left
leg with the scalpel. Bright-red blood bursts out of the leg. Yellow spongey
tissue oozes from the site above red muscle and a glistening white bone. He
uses the tweezers to pull purple tubes from the leg. He is overcome, and tears
stream down his face. The moment is more beautiful than he had imagined.
Veda feels the tugging and pulling up her leg but no
pain. It’s an odd sensation but gratifying. She can feel her blood leaving her
body. She had made the right choice in choosing him to fulfill her need to be
seen. The delight her appearance has given him sends her soul to rest; her body
was documented in reverence. He dissects her fingers, removing the syringe and
bottle of propofol still in her hand and throwing them down in haste. She can
hear him throw the barber-shear mug to the ground like an article of clothing
in a honeymoon suite. She can feel the warmth of his breath as he makes his way
up with the scalpel to her neck. A dizzy and breathless sensation overcomes her
as he runs the scalpel down her carotid artery. The last thing she hears is the
hum of a chainsaw. Richard will soon cut through her chest and find her heart. It
is full of gratitude. Veda is thankful for this day of revelation and peace.
Megan Casem 