Halloweek 2020 Day 3: "Bloody Hands" by Clair Willden

Bloody Hands

By Clair Willden

Danny can’t help but notice that the blood on the couch is so damn loud. It shouldn’t be.There ain’t nothing particularly noisy about blood. Or a couch, really. Not unless the blood is flying through the air in a shot crash and the couch is wrapped in that thick sort of polyethylene that keeps it safe from children. And, in theory, from all this goddamn blood. Danny’s hands rub and squeak the still-wet pools of it back and forth across the thick plastic. She almost smiles. The white fabric underneath—she had told Harvey and Em to go with anything other than white—is likely untouched by all this. Not that she can even think about Emma right now. Or Harvey.

Across from her in the big wingback chair, August is a statue, like Billy the Kid covered in grease and turned to stone. His beard is getting fuller now. He would be right at home in the old west. He flicks his knife open and shut. With each little click, Danny sees it all again—the calm, the cold marble slap, the dead quiet, the dead loud, then just the dead. One, two, three, four, five. She closes her eyes til the fireworks exploding behind her eyelids can eliminate the gun from Em’s hand or the terror from Harvey’s face. She thanks god that August didn’t see any of it.

Wyatt sits in a much smaller chair next to August. He keeps a proprietary hold on the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey, just as he had tried to with the two from earlier that now litter the floor. He chews on a toothpick. His eyes dart all over the room, falling on Danny’s face, her jacket, her hands, the couch, the table, the bottle, August, anything but the floor.

They all sit and stare. The only sounds in the wide living room are the thin plastic squeak from Danny, the open and closed click of the knife from August, and the ticking of a blood-flecked clock on the mantle.

August sways in his seat, his cold statue eyes watering again. Wyatt places a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Danny takes a deep breath.

“Just what do we do now, then?” August asks at length.

Wyatt holds up the whiskey bottle. It trembles in his hand. “We drink.”

“We’ve done that,” August says.

“It don’t hurt to keep doing what works,” Wyatt replied.

Danny opens her mouth to contribute, to say anything, but can’t. Neither man notices. She looks back down at her hands. The blood covers them almost uniformly, like dark red gloves.

August sighs. “No, Wyatt, you stupid ass. I’m askin’ you what do we do about her?”

Danny freezes at the word. She hardens her resolve. They cannot know about Emma. Ever. Danny will cover for her. She can’t stop the visions even by closing her eyes now. Emma taking her hand. Then the calm, the cold marble slap, the dead quiet, the dead loud, and finally just the dead. One, two, three, four, five.

Danny picks her hands up off the couch and balls them into fists. “We have to find her. There ain’t no way to know. What might have happened.”

August looks up and holds out his hand to her.

Danny takes it.

“Alright. You’re right.” He takes a deep breath. “Then what do we do about him? Lord, I’m not drunk enough.”

Behind the whiskey bottles, in a pool of blood, lies Harvey. He stares ahead, his open eyes unblinking, his open mouth unscreaming, his chest painted a brilliant red. A fly buzzes above his body.

“I won’t ever be drunk enough,” August says. He lets Danny’s hand drop.

The fly lands on Harvey’s forehead.

August shudders and wrenches the bottle out of Wyatt’s hands. He takes a long drink.

“We…uh…we could call the law, I guess,” Danny says, her voice uneven. “Justice for Harvey. I cannot…imagine how disturbing this is for you.”

“No. No police,” August says. “You know they’ve still got their eye on me for that knock-off we pulled. And it ain’t any harder for me than you or Wyatt and God knows it’s gonna be hardest on Emma. She loved that boy. And he was like a brother to you both. I can’t imagine finding him like this, Danny. Always knew you were a tough one but my good Lord. Besides, it’s not…it ain’t manly to get upset. Not when there’s things need doing.” 

“We’re just gonna handle this ourselves?” asks Wyatt.

“That’s right. We’ll take care of it. And we’ll find Emma too,” August says. “You just…it’s alright to sit for a while, D. Wyatt and I can handle this first part. Get yourself together. You look rough.”

Danny nods. She can still see Emma kneeling in front of her, in front of the same couch covered in thick plastic. For the kids, whenever they decided to have them, Emma had said.

Before all of this—before Wyatt and August nearly knocked down the door, before August saw the empty face of his little brother, before Danny’s hands rubbed pools of blood back and forth across the couch, before Harvey got himself shot—Emma had knelt in front of Danny and taken her hand.

“What did you want to tell me?” Emma asked. “Harvey shouldn’t be home for a bit. We’ve got time.”

“Em, I…I have never wanted to hurt you,” Danny replied. She softly touched the healing bruise that sat just below Emma’s ear. “I have never wanted anyone to hurt you.”

Emma hurriedly brushed some hair behind her ear. “No one’s hurting me, love. Harv is as good as he’s ever been.”

“No, Em, he is not. Even August has commented on the bruises. He threatened Harvey somethin’ scary the other day when you had the big one on your arm.” Danny’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “I just think you ought to know that you have an option. You have other options than this.”

Emma laughed clear and quick. “What other option do I have? Leave Harvey? Live on my own? No, no, I’m more than fine. I can handle my husband. Thank you, Danny. For caring.” Emma gave Danny’s hand a squeeze.

Danny ripped her hand from Emma’s grasp and shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. She took a deep breath. “Maybe I could cover you. Maybe we could cove each other. Maybe, if you wanted, we could run away together.”

Emma’s eyes grew wide. She didn’t say anything.

They just stared at each other.

The front door opened and slammed shut and there stood Harvey, tall in the living room doorway. His broad cowboy hat hung loose at his side.

“Well,” he said. 

“Harv. Danny stopped by to say hello. Isn’t that nice?” Emma stood and positioned herself between her husband and Danny.

Harvey didn’t reply. He placed his cowboy hat back on his head. He fished in his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter and lit a smoke. After a moment, he paced into the pristine room, past the wingback chair and marble coffee table, to the fireplace. He folded his arms, staring hard at Emma. Calm.

“Danny, maybe you oughta go,” Emma said.

“Em,” Danny said.

Harvey took a long drag on his cigarette. At length, he said, “No, let her stay. Why shouldn’t Danielle stay for this? Not like she doesn’t know all about how bad ole Harvey treats his wife.”

Emma flinched as if struck. “Jesus, Harvey. Please.”

Harvey’s eyes flicked from Emma to Danny and back. “Don’t let me interrupt. Please, continue.”

“Harvey, I am all at fault here,” Danny offered, stepping forward, gently moving Emma behind her. “I needed Emma’s help because someone asked me on a genuine date and I have not had the best luck lately dating, you know? Emma has not done a thing but try to help me.”

“Oh now that, I am sure of. What’s she told you about me? That I hurt her? You know me, Danielle, I ain’t ever hurt a fly.” Harvey dropped some ash on the clean carpet. 

Seeing Harvey standing so stiff by the cold mantle, Danny almost wanted to laugh. Harvey had helped her up after many a bar fight, stood by her during her coming out. He used to be so full of laughter. Once, he’d been the least threatening person in her life, and she’d been happy for him when he got married, even worried that Emma wasn’t good enough for him. He was a different person now. She knew him better, or maybe he knew himself better. It wasn’t the right Harvey standing in front of her. It wasn’t right at all. “I do know you. You are…right. Never hurt even a fly. Like I said, I just needed some help.”

Harvey shook his head and lazily, almost imperceptibly, raised his hand to scratch the back of his wide jaw. “I just wish you women would quit lyin’ to me about things.”

When he slapped her, Danny was honestly surprised. The blistering pain didn’t hit her until after the shock did. The crack of his palm with her face rang through their huge, white house—a house far too big for just the two of them. It reverberated through the kitchen and the hallways and the dusty old room that had had the word nursery painted on the door for forever now.

Danny, to her credit, didn’t fall over. She took the hit and shook it off, keeping her eyes closed to breathe through the pain. “Harvey, think for a moment, okay? This is not what I want here. This is not what you want here either, right? We’re family, you and me,” she said. “You’re my family, Harv. This is not who you are. You have to know that.” She heard rustling behind her and the slight squeaking of the plastic on the couch. 

When she opened her eyes again, silence. Neither Harvey nor Emma was saying a word. Harvey had his hands raised, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. Danny frowned before she turned around to see Emma. Emma, who had a gun pointed at Harvey’s chest. She was breathing raggedly, her eyes narrowed and swimming.

The gun exploded so loud that Danny’s ears rang. She thought she might never hear again. The shot—the bullet, the noise, and the kickback—dropped all three of them to the floor. The round ripped through Harvey’s chest and blasted into the white marble behind.

All noise was static now. Emma staggered to her feet first and stood over her husband.  She fired two more shots into his chest. 

Danny looked on with horror. 

“Emma!” she shouted noiselessly.

Emma replied, but Danny couldn’t make it out. 

Danny scrambled over to Harvey’s body and put her hand under his head. She thought her mouth formed the words, “What did you do?” 

Emma dropped the gun and backed away, shaking her head, her eyes wide. 

    “Go!” Danny felt herself say. The sound was coming back a little now. She heard her words as if through a tank of water. Harvey’s blood was all over her. It made her hands slippery and wet and his body slid around in her arms, the leather too slick to hold him properly. “Em, go, get out of here.”

Emma looked at her blankly.

“I said I would cover you and I will! Get on Harvey’s bike and go!” Danny said. Harvey’s cowboy hat was off his head, lying in the blood staining the white carpet. Every kind gesture or good word was leaking out of him. Every drop of blood was a laugh or a joke or a stupid comment. Danny’s chest hurt. For both of them. When she looked up again, Emma was gone.

Sitting on that same white couch, Danny wishes she had gone with Emma. August and Wyatt busy themselves with Harvey. First, they close his eyes. Then they put his cowboy hat back on his head. Danny stares straight ahead. The blood on her hands has thickened up and crusted by the time August shakes her shoulder.

“D? We’ve gotta move him.” 

Danny nods. 

She washes her hands before they leave, the dry blood turning liquid again in the basin and running down into the drain. Her hands retain that reddish hue.

***

When August discussed taking care of the body, this was not what Danny expected. The section of highway is crumbling and worn. Dust billows in great clouds in the wind leftover from the late summer monsoons. There is no one else for miles. It is the perfect place to dump a body. Danny frowns.

“August, out here? Just leaving him?”

“I know. But we sure can’t be having the law find him. I figure we bury him pretty shallow out here and then, once we get this all cleared up and we kill whoever it was did this to him, we give my brother a proper burial.” August hands her a small shovel.

“Do you not want time to mourn?” Danny asks.

Wyatt snorts.

August shakes his head. “Are you getting girly on me, D? We mourn when our job is done. Our job is to get revenge. Eye for an eye. Life for a life. Can’t be doing no mourning when we have to focus. Buck up. Start digging.”

Danny opens her mouth to speak, but Wyatt shakes his head. Together, they dig. Dirt gets under her fingernails and in her hair and stings her eyes, but it smells open and free. The dirt cleanses the scent of blood from her. Her hands still look red, though whether from the blood or the red clay, she isn’t sure.

August unloads the simple pine box he has Harvey’s body in. He found it in the back of Harvey’s truck. With considerable effort, they heft it into the hole before covering it back with dirt.

Not a single car passes by.

The men turn to leave, but Danny can’t pull herself away from the little pile of dirt. She grabs August’s arm.

“I know we need to focus on anger and revenge right now, but I want…can we just take a moment? So he can rest in peace?” she asks. “I do need to miss him.”

August sighs and turns back to the grave. “Maybe you’re right. I guess a moment won’t hurt so bad.” 

Danny nods. She runs her hand down his arm and holds his hand tight. He smiles. Wyatt holds Danny’s other hand. Around them, the wind whistles. The dust stings Danny’s face.

They were fifteen when they’d knocked off their first convenience store. The adrenaline pounded through her veins and she laughed so loud. Too loud, actually, considering how fast the police found them and told her that the cashier recognized her voice. Harvey wasn’t angry with her, though. He’d shoved her when the police let them off with a warning and said, “Good going, dumbass” with a big shit-eating grin on his face. 

Before the pile of dirt, Danny feels her limbs crumble and her whole self fall down into the ground with Harvey. The worms gnaw on her bones and, stuck between August and Wyatt, Danny knows the earth will swallow them all whole. Her best friend is gone. She wants to be gone too, blown away like the dust on her face or washed clean like the blood on her hands.

August gives her hand another light squeeze. “Time to go, D. We gotta get on with this thing.”

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