Hellcat

Chapter 5

Wilder Sanchez

When I walked into the bar I promised myself I wouldn't take more than ten glasses. It has been thirty minutes and Jake still has shown up. I'm contemplating breaking down my regulations and bumping the number twenty-even-something. The scorch of vodka poured down my throat burns so deeply that it becomes increasingly wonderful. 

I call the bartender for another one. He complies, quickly filling my empty glass with the antagonising liquid. The beautiful swishing of the surface is not missed by my art observant eyes. It glistens under the dim lights of the bar. 

I bring it to my lips with feigned reluctance. But everyone knew quite well I would tip it all into my mouth in a split second. 

Moe the bartender gives me a concerned look. I come to this bar about once a week to meet Jake for my weekly stash. I don't know what his real name is. That is just the way it is around these parts. No one knows the other person's real name. I call him Moe because that's the name of the bartender in The Simpsons. 

Moe is probably noting that I have downed God knows how many shots in the last half hour. 

Oh well, I have this body to offer to death. Be it by drunk accident or drug overdose. Or maybe even getting bludgeoned by one of my ex-clients. 

I signal to Moe for another shot while looking around the bar. It has earned the name the shelter because that is what it is for most of the people in the neighbourhood. There used to be a sign above the front door outside announcing the name of the bar but years of rain and lack of maintenance have obscured the words. Everyone just calls it 'The Shelter'. The music is a loud electric rock hybrid that pumps in the heart and gives me a rush of adrenaline. Mingling with the music are a hundred voices chatting amiably trying to be heard over the din. The strobe lights are dim, intermittently lighting the room. Smoke from a fog machine buried somewhere in the room curls to the ceiling in bluish-grey swirls.

There are couples sitting at booths, heads touching as they speak quietly; boy groups laughing loudly and slapping each other's thigh; older men and women slumped over the bar, their depression only as thick as the smoke in the air; girls in tight dresses with legs crossed sipping whiskey while searching the bar with their horny eyes. 

A hand drapes over my shoulder. I clench my fist, reaching for my flick knife while turning to smile at the stranger. 

The smile becomes genuine when I see who it is. "Jake."

"Eli."

His dark hair is combed to the side and he is wearing glasses, a tweed suit jacket that he has teamed with an Oxford shirt and jeans.

I punch his shoulder lightly. "Where the hell have you been?"

"That hurt, Eli."

He rubs the area as though it hurts though the ease of his laughter shows me that he is not in any pain. 

"You had me waiting for half an hour, " I fuss. "Do you have any idea what I could have done with that time?"

"Forgive me, babe. I had to take care of some very important business before getting here, " he motions to Moe for a drink. 

"Did you at least bring what I asked for?" 

He slides a leather pouch across the bar towards me. 

I open it, the cocktail of brightly coloured pills stares at me. I pop a few in my mouth. "I could kiss you right now."

"What's stopping you?" He asks, smiling at me before taking a sip of his beer. 

"Your bad breath, " I say with a breezy laugh.

"Yah, yah, " he says, chuckling. "You look good, Eli."

"I wish I could say the same about you."

Jake is not bad on the eye. He's tall, almost six feet with curly dark hair and the deepest grey eyes I have ever seen. He's a badass, my type of guy. And despite all of this I have never been sexually attracted to him.  It's probably because I have seen him in Mickey Mouse underwear before. Yes, that must be it. 

He places a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "Dear Eli, why do you always make it hard for me to be nice to you?" 

"That's just who I am, " I say with a wink, placing a few crumpled notes from my purse on the chrome bar. "Catch you later Jake."

"Be safe, Eli." 

I nod one last time and walk out of the bar. The air is chilly. I removed the hoodie from where I had tied it around my waist and slip it around my shoulders. The bar was too hit and after the ice cream incident, I did not want to risk staining the hoodie again.

When I get to my apartment, the front door is unlocked. I don't remember forgetting to lock the door this morning when I was heading out. I remove my knife from the pocket if my jeans and proceed inside quietly.

"Hello?" I ask, looking around. Someone has been cleaning my living room. The broken glass from two nights ago is no longer scattered on the floor. My table has been cleared and a broom is leaning against a wall.

The kitchen is empty. When I open the fridge, it has been stocked with fresh produce. I don't remember the last time I saw fresh vegetables in my fridge. Such a shame most of it will go bad because I'm not much of a cook.

"Hello?" I repeat my question while entering my room, knife held in front of me even though so far it does not look like the intruder is here to hurt me.

There's a pan on the stove and when I take off the cover, the delicious smell of food attacks my nostrils. I don't remember the last time I ate a home-cooked meal. There's only one person I know who would have access to my apartment and knows how to make pozole.

"Lucas," I frown, noticing the man sitting on my bed.

My brother is my mother's son. He has her curly black hair and my father's brown eyes. The ones I have too. I've never met her but I have no doubt his mannerisms are similar to hers. He looks up from the clothes he is folding and stares at me. "I see you still wear mom's hoodie everywhere you go. I guess some things never change."

"What are you doing here?" I demand.

"I made dinner," he says, placing the folded sweater in the basket. "And I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk," I say sharply, placing my bag on the floor and leaning in the doorway of my bedroom.

"You might want to sit down first," Lucas says, standing up from the bed. "How about we sit in the living room."

I make way for him to pass and together we walk into my living room. His eyes zero on the potter's wheel on the table in the middle of the room then fall on me.

"We sit on the floor," I say.

He nods, walking into the kitchen. He returns minutes later with two bowls of soup. I do not thank him when he offers me a bowl and spoon; he does not expect my gratitude. The soup is still hot and makes me smile slightly when I recognise the hints of cilantro and lime.

"Our mother's name was Alicia Sanchez," Lucas begins, staring at me waiting for a reaction.

I stare at him back. wordlessly. He never ever spoke about our parents, when I was a kid, I used to ask. But as I grew I learned some things are better left unsaid.

He sighs and continues. "She was a bus girl in her uncle Arturo's restaurant in Mexico City. She dreamed of coming to America and becoming an actress. Our father was a businessman who travelled a lot. When he came into Grandpa Arturo's restaurant, he met Alicia and they fell in love. He stayed in Mexico City with her for almost two years, because Grandpa Arturo was on the verge of death and Alicia could not leave him while he was severely ill. But Dwayne had a business to run outside of Mexico, he couldn't stay there forever. So Alicia left with him. They moved to New Jersey and got married in a catholic church here. After a year, I was born. They were the happiest couple ever."

"This all sounds very amazing but it can't be all," I say. Lucas never directly told me but I found out that our father used to physically abuse our mom. If everything he has just shared right now is true, why did my father start beating his wife and subsequently kill her?

"Dwayne used to be a scuba diving instructor, but after settling down with our mom, he couldn't continue travelling a lot so he began investing the money he had made from his previous jobs into cargo ships. When I was fifteen, one of his fleets got lost at sea during a bad storm and he lost a chunk of profit. He tried to save the wrecks but then another one of his ships sank. In the span of two months, he had lost everything. He tried to be a good sport, but it pained him. He lost his cars, and we had to move into a middle-class house. He took a job as a car salesman and only made enough for us to live on. But he was adamant that mom did not get a job." Lucas pauses here, staring at me too be sure I am listening.

But he has my full attention, my soup bowl has been untouched since he started again. This is the first time I'm hearing the story of my parents and I will be damned before I let anything distract me.

"Dwayne would come home into the wee hours of the morning with beer on his breath and a cigarette in his hand. The first time he hit mom was when she asked for a divorce. I had turned sixteen then. I tried to convince mom to leave but she did not think it was serious. Also, Grandpa Arturo had disowned her for abandoning him while he was sick. She was not sure he would welcome her back into his home. One night dad came home particularly drunk and angry. Mom smelled women's perfume on him. He grabbed her by the neck and threw her to the floor. Then, he removed his belt and hit her repeatedly. As if that's not enough he," Lucas chokes back a sob. He clears his throat, there are tears in his eyes. "He... he r***d her."

"So that's how I was born."

Somehow the knowledge that I am the product of forced intercourse almost makes me feel better about the miserable person I have become.

Lucas bows his head in shame. "I never wanted to tell you, Wilder, because I knew it would make you feel bad. I truly am sorry."

I press my lips together tightly, eyes focusing inward. "Please just continue with the story, Lucas." I sudden;y feel nauseous, Lucas's pozole is no longer appealing.

He sighs, staring at me while running a hand through his thick dark hair. "Dwayne didn't hit mom while she was pregnant. But he would say all sorts of spiteful things to her. He accused her of sleeping with all of his work buddies. But when you were born it became clear to him that you were his child. Same hazel eyes and fiery red hair. He loved you. He quit drinking and devoted all of his time to you. Mom was grateful he had returned to 'normal' but she always lived with the fear that he would one day relapse and kill all of us. She did not want to risk your life."

Lucas stares at me as if expecting a comment, but I am silent, aware of my environment and every word he says but at the same time lost in my thoughts.

"So when dad announced that he going on a road trip with some friends, mom packed up all our stuff. Mom had already put your baby seat in the car and we were about to leave when dad suddenly arrived. He suffocated mom to death. With his bare hands. I tried to stop him. But I was weak." he spits the last word out with venom.

At this point, Lucas glares at his hands with teary eyes. I don't say anything to comfort him, he needs to let all his anguish out first. "I was too weak to protect our mother. I will not let the same happen to you." His face hardens in seriousness.

"Me?" I stutter in surprise.

"Dwayne is up for parole next month. Or you didn't know that?"

"Oh, wow." I should probably check my e-mail more often.

"He's going to come after you, Wilder. You're not safe where you live anymore. Come and stay with me. We can figure things out, together. As the family, we used to be."

"Will Vera be there?" I ask, spite in my voice when I say her name.

"Her name is Vanellope. And yes, she's carrying my children, there's nowhere else I'd let her stay."

"You've got another bun in the oven?" I sneer.

"Why do you sound so angry about it, Eli?" Lucas genuinely does not understand that it was his marriage to Vincentia that drove a wedge between us. Dating her put a strain on our relationship, the marriage just killed it. His ignorance is both admirable and pitiful.

"I'm not going to live in a house with Venessa."

"I'm only trying to do what's best for you, Eli. Work with me," he sighs through his lips.

"No! You are only doing what's best for you, Lucas." You can't have your cake and eat it. You made your choice when you married Vicky."

"Dwayne is a dangerous man, Eli. He killed our mom-"

"I know!" I yell pounding my fist against the floor in a sudden burst of anger. "I know," I reiterate, this time more quietly with sobriety. "I know because every time I look around me, she's not there. I was only three years old when she was taken from me. I don't even remember what she looks like. I don't know the type of music she likes to listen to. I don't know her favourite colour. I don't know what reality TV shows she prefers. I don't know. Because she was taken away from me. I don't need you reminding me of my loss. Okay?"

"I'm so sorry, Eli," Lucas begins, shifting closer to me. "All this time I thought you were over it. I never imagined you were hurting. I thought I was alone in my pain, but you were hurting too."

"No," I say firmly but without the rise of voice. I can get my point across without yelling too. "You are not hurting Lucas. You have a wife, a daughter, an amazing job and this wonderful lie. I... I have no one."

"That's not true, Wilder. You have me. And I'm sure Vanellope will too if you just give her the chance to get to know you. My daughter, your niece, Amanda, she needs you alive for her next birthday party. Come home with me, Eli. It's time to come home." Lucas slumps on the floor tiredly. I know he's done.

But I'm not.

"You still don't get it, Lucas. I can't go back to that house. I can't go there and see your wife, your kid. I've never had a mother figure in my life. It's too late for that now. It will be too much for me."

"There's nothing I can do to change your mind?" he asks.

"This," I gesture around my drab living room. "This is my home now."

"I'm the one paying the rent, you know."

Quiet laughter. "I know,"

He stands up from the floor, picking my bowl and his and emptying their contents into the bin before washing both bowls and placing them on a rack to dry. He wipes his hands with a dishtowel and picks an apple from the fridge.

"Don't let the lettuce go to waste. It's delicious," he jokingly orders.

"I won't."

It's a promise I'm not sure I can keep but a promise nonetheless. He walks to the front door, I don't want to see him off, too much raw emotions involved.

"Hey, Eli?" Lucas calls out when he is almost at the door.

I drag my eyes away from the reflective fridge door which I have been staring at and stare at Lucas. I raise both eyebrows in a silent question.

"Be safe, okay?"

I am reminded that his visit was not a social call but a warning for the impending doom.

I force a smile, it feels more like a grimace but Lucas smiles back at me. "I will."