Mercy- 2nd Draft

Mercy

         

        Mr. Norris pulled his old, big car into his gravel driveway that’s right next to ours. The loud rumbling of the engine died and I heard the driver’s door open.

         I was sitting Indian-style against the side of my house with the new Goosebumps open in my lap, trying not to look over.

         Mr. Norris makes me nervous. Not because of his cane or the way he breathes like he’s been running all day. It’s the way his eyebrows are always scrunched down close to his eyes, the way the sides of his mouth seem like they have fish-hooks pulling them toward the ground.

         And then there was the day Mrs. Norris moved out. I was in my room and heard yelling outside, so I stood up on my mattress to look out my horizontal window that’s close to the ceiling. Next door, I saw Mrs. Norris hoisting a big duffel bag into the open trunk of a car I hadn’t seen before.

         Mr. Norris, limping without his cane from the bottom of the porch over to her, was saying “You think this is gonna last? That you’re gonna find someone better than me? You’re forty-eight years old and you weigh three hundred goddamn pounds. You’ll be crawling back here before you know it and guess what? The locks’ll be changed and I won’t even remember who you are. You hear what I’m saying? Last chance here.”

         Mrs. Norris closed the trunk and walked past Mr. Norris with her head down, not looking at him. She got in the passenger seat of the car and whoever was driving took off, leaving Mr. Norris on the sidewalk.

         He looked at the car driving away for a few seconds, then turned away from it and I could see his face. It was scrunched and pulled down like always, but there was something else there, too. His shoulders were slumped forward instead of straight like they usually were.

         I heard him mutter “Bitch”, turn back around and walk slowly toward the porch steps.           

         Now, I heard Mr. Norris pull himself out of his car and the driver’s door being shut. I the back door open and Mr. Norris saying “Come on, buddy. We’re home.” 

         When I heard that, I had to look. I was careful to move only my eyes, keeping my head down so I could look quickly back at my book if Mr. Norris glanced my way.

         Through the windshield of the car, I could see something moving around in the backseat. I couldn’t see what exactly, because the sun was bouncing off the glass, but it looked like some kind of animal.

         Whatever it was didn’t get out like Mr. Norris told it to. He set his cane on the roof of the car and bent down and reached in, grabbed the creature and dragged it out, saying “Git outta there!”

         This was all on the side of the car that faced away from me, so I still couldn’t see what he’d brought home.

         He looked down at the creature and raised one arm and pointed to the porch behind him.

         “Come on. Up here.”

         The creature remained still. The top half of Mr. Norris, which was all I could see of him, jerked sideways and said “Git!” The motion made him stumble and he had to grab onto the car to keep his balance.

         By then, I had formed an idea of what he’d brought home with him and when I heard the startled yelp come from that side of the car, I knew for sure.

         The kick got it moving. Mr. Norris grabbed his cane and followed the creature around the L-shape of bushes you have to walk around to reach his porch steps. I guess it ventured too far because Mr. Norris halted at the base of the porch and yelled “Hey!” and pointed up the steps with his cane, directing it.

         The creature obeyed Mr. Norris and went up.

         The bushes around the porch only come up to the concrete slab and don’t block the view of it, so when the creature got all the way up the steps I saw it for the first time.

         It was a beautiful German shepherd that didn’t stand higher than Mr. Norris’s knees and must have still been just a baby. Its fur was rough and matted down and it looked like it hadn’t been bathed or brushed in a long time, if ever.

         I wondered if the dog was a boy or a girl. I know you can’t tell either way unless you look underneath, but I used my imagination and decided by the gentle steps it took and the way it kept its head and eyes low and shy that it was a girl.

         Mr. Norris finally reached the top of the porch and went to the front door. He unlocked and opened it and held the screen door open.

         “Come on,” he said.

         The dog took a few steps back at the sound of his voice and looked into the house, afraid to go in.

         Mr. Norris said, “Girl, you’re gonna learn real quick I can be the best friend you ever had, but you better mind me if you don’t want hell to pay. Now git yer ass in there.”  Snapping his fingers and pointing in.

         Girl, I thought. I’d been right.

         At the sound of his yelling the girl-dog hunched down, startled. Mr. Norris kept his finger in place for a few seconds, giving her one last chance I suppose, then limped over to her and swung his cane hard against her backside.

         She let out a huge yelp and lost and regained her balance racing to get away from him. At the same time, a stream of urine fell out from between her hind legs.

         Mr. Norris looked down at the new mess on the porch and then back at the girl. Stared at her with his mouth hanging open for what felt like forever to me. It must have felt even longer to her.

         I couldn’t see Mr. Norris’s eyes clearly, but you can always feel when somebody isn’t blinking.

         The girl had retreated to the corner of the porch and was crouched down low. Mr. Norris took slow steps toward her. Holding tight onto his cane, he reached down with his free hand and grabbed her by the neck fur, saying something I couldn’t make out. Pulled her up into a standing position and yanked her toward the door.

         The girl-dog gave in and walked with him. They disappeared inside the house and the door slammed shut.

         I sat there for a while just looking at the porch before I finally looked back down at my book that I still had open on my lap.

         I tried to concentrate and read.

         And found that I couldn’t.



#



         Over the next few days, every time I went outside I heard Mr. Norris yelling at Cindy—that was what I’d named the girl-dog in my mind.

         I heard the yelling mostly through the walls of his house and sometimes out in his backyard where there was an old tree in the middle. Mr. Norris had padlocked a longish chain around the tree and would attach the end of it to Cindy’s collar whenever he went someplace, leaving her out there without any food or water.          

         He had two kinds of yelling voices for Cindy—one that gave commands and a louder one for when they weren’t followed. Once in a while he’d yell something and a single quick yelp would follow. A few times a worse noise followed.

         I began spending less time outside.

         It got to where I didn’t even want to open my bedroom window to let the fresh air in while I played Nintendo on the small TV on my dresser.

         Toward the end of the week, I decided to talk to my dad.

         It was evening and he was in the living room, leaned back into his dark red recliner and watching a rerun of Magnum. His eyes were red and half open. On the small round table by the recliner was one of the two six-packs of Coors Light he’d picked up on the way home from work. Two of the bottles in it were empty and one was sitting half-full in his lap.

         I went to the recliner and said “Dad?”

         It came out softer and less clear than I’d meant it to.

         Dad didn’t say anything or look away from the TV. I figured he hadn’t heard me, or was ignoring me. Both happened a lot these days.

         I was about to repeat myself when he opened his mouth and said “What do you need?”

         “Mr. Norris next door…”

         “Ed? What about him?”

         “He got a new dog.”

         “Did he? Well…good for him.”

         He lifted the half-empty bottle to his lips and took a big gulp, still looking at the TV.

         “I think he’s been treating her bad.”

         He glanced sideways at me.

         “What do you mean, ‘treating her bad’?”

         I told him about the yelling and yelping.

         He said, “I haven’t heard any yelling. Besides, it’s Ed’s dog and he can do what he wants with it. None of our business how he treats her.”

         I shook my head.

         “It doesn’t make sense, though. Why get a dog in the first place if you don’t want it around?”

         Dad shrugged.

         “He’s all alone in that house now. I suppose even hard-asses like Ed Norris get lonely.”

         He took a gulp of his beer and, for a second, looked like he figured the conversation was over. Then he saw that I was still standing there.

         “Look, Keith. One thing about guys like him you gotta understand, ‘cause I’ve been around my fair share, is treating people like crap—animals, too, I suppose—that’s his idea of how people relate to each other. Probably goes back centuries in his family. ” 

         I was quiet for a moment before saying “I guess. But, like, what if he hurts her really bad one day? Like, what if he breaks one of her legs and she has to hobble around the rest of her life?”

         “Christ, what the hell’s in all those books you read?”

         “It could happen, couldn’t it? And, like, wouldn’t it be kind of our fault, too, for not doing anything about it? I mean… couldn’t we just call the police and tell them and they could come take her away?”

          Dad didn’t say anything for a few seconds and I thought he was going to just stop talking to me and pretend I’d gone away. Instead, he lifted one corner of his mouth just a little, looked down at his beer and swirled it around in the bottle.

         “You’re just like your mother, you know that? Every time we saw a dog or cat just wandering around outside she’d be talking about it the rest of the day. ‘What if it starves or freezes to death out there?’ Finally, she’d have enough and call Animal Control and tell them where to find the things.”

         I nodded and said “Yeah. I remember.”

         “I asked her one time, what good would it do to have them picked up? They’d just be taken to the kennel and put down within the week. She said she supposed it was better they die quickly now than have to suffer and die anyway.”

         I didn’t say anything.

         “You know, back when you were just a baby there was this family that lived across the street where the Laymons live now. Had five dogs, all of them mutts. Never bothered to tie them up outside or train them to stay in the yard. They were free to just wander around the neighborhood, and there wasn’t a day that went by that one of them didn’t almost get run over. It drove your mother nuts.

         “She called the police, just like you want to now. Called them over and over again. They’d come by and talk to those people and they’d round the dogs up and bring them in the house. Then, the very next day, those mutts would be back out on the street. That went on until the day they moved out.

         “So, son, you go ahead and sic the police on Ed if you want, but I can tell you it’s just a Band-Aid unless you can prove something definite. He’ll be back to beating on that dog before the cops pull out of the driveway.”

          I was looking down at my shoes by then, not letting Dad see my eyes.

         “Anything else?”

         I shook my head.

         “All right, then let me be.”



#



         I was in bed wide awake, not feeling like reading or doing anything else, just sort of staring at the ceiling. It was getting dark earlier than usual and the wind was blowing hard outside my window.

         I heard Mr. Norris’s back screen door swing open and slam against the wall, making a sound like a two-by-fours dropped on a cement floor.

         That’s one of the sounds of Mr. Norris in an angry mood.

         “Out, you little fucker!”

         I stood up on my mattress and looked out my window. He was dragging Cindy out the back door by the collar with the hand that usually holds his cane. He was having trouble keeping his balance with Cindy, who was trying to get free from him.

         I couldn’t see his other hand clearly, only that it was raised up like he was carrying something on his shoulder. Except that he wasn’t.

         He dragged Cindy on a slow, awkward trek down the steps of the back porch and across the backyard, towards the tree in the middle.

         Cindy saw she was about to be chained up and struggled against Mr. Norris harder. She was growling and whining and barking all at once.

         “Quit yer squirming, you little bitch!”

         When they got to the tree, Mr. Norris threw one leg over Cindy and dropped to his knees, trapping her under him. He let go of her collar and grabbed the free end of the chain that had an open padlock hanging from it. He hooked the lock around Cindy’s collar and shut it, then stood up.

         Cindy tried to get up, too, but before she was standing all the way Mr. Norris brought his leg back and forward, the toe of his shoe flying into Cindy’s side sending her rolling onto her back.

         She cried out.

         Mr. Norris stepped backward away from the tree and stood still in the yard, out of breath. After a moment, he turned around and limp-waddled back toward the house, saying over his shoulder “And a lot more, too, when I get back!”

         With him turned around, I could see his other hand. It was covered in blood and so was that side of his shirt. As far away as I was, looking through the bug screen of my window, I couldn’t see any bites marks on him but I knew that’s what had happened. That Cindy had tried to fight back.

         I waited at the window for a while, thinking I would see him come out the front door and get in his car to drive himself to the hospital.

         But he didn’t, and I figured he was fixing his hand up himself.

         My hands were holding onto the window frame tight and I was shaking all over, afraid of what I was going to see when Mr. Norris returned to the backyard.

         I decided that, whatever it was, I had to stop it.

         My first thought was to go and get my dad and tell him what was happening. But I remembered everything he told me earlier, that it was none of my business what Mr. Norris did to Cindy and that, even if I called the police, they’d come and go and he’d do whatever he was going to do to her anyway.

         He’s going to come back out and beat Cindy, I thought. Beat her to death probably. And all you’ll be able to do is stand here and watch it happen.

         And I started crying. The tears came hot and slick down my face and I had to wipe them away and wipe the snot away from my nose.

         Not because there was no way to stop Mr. Norris.

         Because I knew there was.



#



         It was dark in the living room except for the glow of the TV. The light that shone from it went from bright to dim and then bright again across Dad’s face. He was leaned back in the recliner, snoring.

         I walked past him, knowing I didn’t need to step carefully.

         In the kitchen, I opened the drawer between the sink and stove and took out the big knife that Dad used to use to slice lettuce and tomatoes on homemade taco nights when Mom was still here. The tip of it was broken off so that there were two jagged points instead of one fine point.

         I’ve never known how that happened.

         Holding the knife, I went back through the living room and out the front door.

         Outside, the wind was blowing harder. Inky black clouds hovered low in the sky. I heard distant thunder and felt occasional raindrops on my neck and arms as I went down our wooden porch steps and cut across our front yard.

         Mr. Norris’s backyard came into view. Mr. Norris was back outside, still wearing his blood-stained shirt. His bitten hand was now wrapped in a white bandage.

         He’d added an extra padlock to Cindy’s chain that held her close to the tree so that she was trapped in one spot.

         He had his cane with him now, and he was talking.

         “So, this is what it comes down to, huh? I brought you into my home, fed you, tried to teach you how to mind me so we could be friends. But you didn’t want none of it, I guess. Well, now, that’s fine with me. You can just stay out here from now on without me to take care of you. Two days, no food, and you’ll be wishing you’d kept those teeth to yourself.”

         He held up his bandaged hand, showing it to Cindy.

         “This calls for something extra, though.”

         He lifted the cane and brought it down onto Cindy’s back. She let out a cry that broke through the wind and thunder.          

         I crossed the invisible line between our backyard and Mr. Norris’s.

         I wanted to stop and turn around, run back into the house and hide under my sheets, pretend the world wasn’t there.  But I made myself keep going toward the tree. Toward Mr. Norris and Cindy.

         I wondered if this was what being brave felt like. If so, it didn’t feel good.

          When I was ten feet into the yard, halfway to the tree, Mr. Norris saw me and stopped hitting Cindy.

         “Hey! What the hell you doing on my property? Get back in your own yard!”

         He pointed toward my house with his bandaged hand.

         I stopped where I was, my heart beating so hard that it was making me dizzy.

         Mr. Norris looked down at the knife in my hand and then back at me.

         Not yelling anymore, he said “What the hell’s that goddamn thing for?”

         I looked over at Cindy and saw her looking at me. Barking.

         Not the way a dog barks when a stranger comes in the yard. Cindy’s bark had a long begging moan to it.

         It said Help me.

         It said Do it.

         I walked the rest of the way across the yard toward them. Mr. Norris, looking at the knife, took a few steps backward, saying “Hey, now. Hey!”

         He was confused and afraid.

         I thought, Good.

         I raised the knife up past my shoulder and held it by my head the way you hold a baseball. Took a step forward and Mr. Norris took a step back and tripped backward over one of the tree roots and fell to the ground beside Cindy.

         I took one last step forward and held the knife out in front of me, pointed downward.

         I closed my eyes, lifted the knife and brought it down.

         I kept my eyes closed and yanked the knife out and felt a warm spray of blood on my arm.

         There was still movement and noise below the knife, so I brought it down again and a third time. After that, the movement under me stopped.

         I stood for a moment with my eyes closed, crying as hard as when I saw Mom in her casket, knowing I had to open my eyes now and see another body.

         I opened my eyes and looked. She was less bloody than I thought she would be, most of it having sprayed out of her neck onto my arm. The blood was now pouring from the wounds onto the ground.

         I looked over at Mr. Norris, saw him still on the ground but propped up by his elbows. His cane lay a few feet away from him.

         That mean face he always wore was gone now and there was only shock and fear in its place as he stared at me.

         Sobbing, I said, “Now you can’t hurt her anymore.”

         I turned and walked back toward my house, out from beneath the branches of the tree and into the pouring rain.

The End