A Mourning Song by Mark Westmoreland

Author:Mark Westmoreland [Westmoreland, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shotgun Honey Books
Published: 2022-09-23T04:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

THE DEVIL’S DOORSTEP

1.

I stood under a scalding shower, the water burning the need for alcohol from me. Andy waited outside the shower curtain, reminding me of the dream Caudell woke me from—the taste of the copperhead fresh in my mouth made my bottom lip throb. I stared into the light above me, allowing the incandescent bulb to blister my pupils, hoping it would rob me of my ability to see. Until now, Andy only came to me in my nightmares, providing my mind a reprieve while being awake. I would rather go blind than have my hallucinations of a dead girlfriend haunt me during the day.

A knock on the bathroom door made me pull my eyes from the light and look toward the door. Shadows floated in my vision, and I rubbed the spots away with my palms. The hinges squealed when Marshall opened the door and stuck his head inside. “What the hell’s taking you so long, Coy? The water’s gotta be cold by now.”

“I’m fixing to get out.”

“Well, hurry up then. Caudell’s got a place or two he wants to stop ‘fore we go looking for them dickweasels.”

“All I gotta do is get dressed.”

“All right then.” Marshall closed the door with a snap.

I turned the water off and stood there air drying while I held my breath, hoping Andy wouldn’t still be sitting on the toilet lid when I stepped out of the tub.

After exhaling and spending some time refilling my lungs, I yanked the shower curtain aside, the way I would removing a Band-Aid, and found myself in the bathroom alone. I got the towel hanging from the rod next to the shower, patted dry, and redressed myself in the clothes I’d worn the past few days. I smelled stale body odor on the fabric and opened Arlo’s medicine cabinet, looking for some cologne to mask the scent. I borrowed a bottle of Nautica, sprayed myself down, and left the bathroom smelling like fresh-cut apples.

Marshall and Caudell waited on the front porch. Sunshine turned the sky the color of orange peel, and humidity blanketed me when I stepped outside; sweat pearled along my forehead and my shirt clung to my arms and back. My brother cut a conversation short and changed the subject to Caudell’s ‘76 Cutlass. It sat next to my pickup—a cobalt blue paint job glimmered in the morning light with its racing stripes popping in the sunshine.

“It’s like I done told you, Caudell, we go riding around in that car of yours, and they’ll hear us coming from damn Blackwood.”

“Can’t all three of us squeeze in your brother’s truck.”

“The hell you say?” Marshall said, his eyes growing round. “I’ll have you know me and Coy fit in there with the Lawson sisters squeezed between us. That cab wasn’t near as damn tight as Kayla Lawson neither.”

Caudell shook his head. “I ain’t leaving my car here for some hillbilly to jack.”

“It won’t get jacked. Not if we park it in the barn out back.” Marshall flung a thumb over his shoulder, pumping it to add emphasis to his words.

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