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PART II
ELEVATOR TO THE GALLOWS

77B

Trey woke up and started his normal routine without realizing for a couple of hours that anything was different. He always slept on his divan in his office. He always went upstairs to take a shower while all his whores were asleep and his tenants were already at work. He always went into the speak kitchen to raid it for leftovers. He always ran the tunnel between the speak and his warehouse to restock the bar—

Oh.

He hadn’t awakened in the speak in months.

After a decent night’s sleep and daylight between first seeing that cat looking at Marina like a love-struck puppy and now, Trey could allow as how perhaps he’d been a little quick to leap to conclusions, but before Gale, Jimmy had been eager to introduce himself to Marina. Carville had had access to Marina twelve hours a week that he hadn’t wasted. Now that Trey was thinking about it, he had noticed a cat here and there glancing at her since she’d gotten all spiffed up. She wasn’t showing that much yet and she had pregnancy-hiding clothes down to an art form.

He’d chalked it up to his presence, Trey Goddamned Dunham, he of the Machine, and what kind of woman someone of his looks and status would marry, but … what if it was her? He hadn’t been with her when Jimmy started talkin’ sweet, nor had he been with her when Gale went to rescue her from a “bread avalanche.”

That hurt two different ways. He should’ve been the one to rescue her from a falling rack of bread, but he’d been off getting coffee because he wanted to get to the ballgame and he was irritated by the grocery detour.

What would Trey have done if he’d seen her now for the first time instead of seeing her at her worst, sartorial-wise? Looked a little longer, was all. There was something about her that called to a cat. Wasn’t her looks; half of that was illusion. Wasn’t her eyes; those were plain brown. Wasn’t her smile or voice; those weren’t noteworthy.

It was all those things working together, plus that drop of vivacity, cup of kindness, and bucket of sweetness that drew a man’s eye. And then a cat’d find out how fucking smart she was.

He almost didn’t blame Jimmy or the little pipsqueak from the grocery store—Gale, for God’s sake—for wanting to see if he could pick her up. But she should know better! Trey found her plenty attractive so why’d she care about any other cat’s opinion?

What had she done all those hours he’d spent looking for her after she’d left him at the grocery store? Driving around looking for his lost wife, worried sick something bad would happen to a sweet, innocent little thing like her. Going home to wait for hours because he had no idea and hoping she would find her way home. Shit, he was more worried about her safety than he was mad that she’d been suckered all the way into bed.

He sighed and was about to head home to make her yell at him and sort out all his feelings for him when speak business intruded. He didn’t have another chance to think about it till ten.

He scowled. He didn’t want to go home and watch her scratching that fucking gash till it bled, which she only did when—

“Oh, God,” he whispered.

He grabbed his assistant to cover him for the night, then sped home and practically jumped out of the car before he parked. All the lights were off. It was quiet. “Marina!” he roared.

No answer.

He didn’t think, just took the dark stairs two at a time and clicked on her bedside lamp to see her fast asleep. He relaxed, sagging against the door frame.

Asleep.

In her pretty, expensive-looking dress.

And good shoes.

Dried blood crusting her sleeve, smeared all over the sheets.

He fell to his knees beside the bed and shook her. “Marina! Marina, Sugga, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean a word of it. I was scared and worried and mad and jealous. Sugga, wake up. Please.”

He checked her pulse. There. Weak.

But her skin was on fire.

“Oh, God,” he croaked as he felt her head and all those memories of his mother and brothers came crashing in on him. But this was no flu. Her whole arm was angry red, mottled with white, the biggest wound oozing stinking pus.

“No,” he said desperately. “Marina, you can’t die on me. Please don’t die. I’m sorry I made you scratch.”

The idea of life without her was unbearable and he whipped into action, shooting to the bathroom to run a tub of lukewarm water. He dug in a closet to find Epsom salts he used to soak his feet after a long night at the speak and dumped it in. He shot down to the freezer and cracked ice out of a tin, wrapped it up in a towel, and shot back upstairs.

She pulled away with a whimper and scowl as soon as he put an ice cube on her forehead.

“Marina, wake up. Sugga, you gotta wake up. You have a fever. Your sore’s infected—” She must have really dug into it because he’d shot off at the mouth even though he knew better, saying everything her mama had said to her, only he hadn’t used a belt. Didn’t matter. He was no better than the Reverend Missus, only now Marina might die from the words he’d flung at her.

“Marina,” he rasped, kissing her forehead, which was hot as hell. “Wake up. Wake up, Sugga. Don’t die on me. I’ve lost too many people I love already. Please, please,” he begged, “wake up. Don’t die.”

“I want to,” she whispered, startling him. He pulled away to see her still in the same position, her eyes still closed. Her mouth barely moved. He didn’t know if she was asleep or not. “My mother did. Why can’t I?”

“Aw, c’mon, Sugga,” he wheedled. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’m not strong like her,” she breathed. “Lasted all that time before something made her want to die. She did it. I wish I could be that brave.”

Trey was really starting to panic. He’d had no idea Marina was so fragile, and he wasn’t quite sure how to handle this other than keeping her alive.

Her grateful smile, gone. Her contented face, gone. Her laughter, gone. Her instinctive, unintentional lawyering, gone. Her scent, gone. Her sweet disposition, gone.

She should be yelling at him for being so fucking stupid, but her anger, too, was gone. That was the scariest thing of all.

He wrangled her prone body up until he had her on the edge of the bed. “C’mon now, Sugga, stand up. Let’s get you in the bathtub.”

“I don’t care if I stink,” she said airily.

“You don’t,” he lied hastily. “You’re running a fever an’ we gotta cool you off.”

“Fevers kill people, don’t they? Oh, that would be nice. Save me the trouble. So peaceful. Go to sleep in a hot bath and never wake up … ”

“Marina,” he said desperately, pulling her to her feet. She was a dead weight, though. “Be a good wife for me right now, willya? Walk with me to the bathroom.”

He expected her to poke at him or at least protest that she was or wasn’t a good wife, but she did as he said. That was a bad sign.

Once in the bathroom, Trey began to undress her. She stood and did exactly what he wanted her to—

“You’re going to be indecent here?”

“No, I’mma put you in the bathtub and get your fever down.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Fevers kill people, don’t they?” she asked again. “Will it hurt?”

“Sugga, if you don’t get in that tub, I’mma pick you up and put you in myself. Be a good wife and do what I ask.”

She put her foot in and jerked it out with a gasp. “It’s cold,” she whined.

“It ain’t cold. It’s warm. Get in.”

She whimpered as she did so, but it took her a nail-biting length of time for her to do it. He helped ease her down into the water, but she clung to his arm, whimpering and resisting.

“I’m not gonna have you dyin’ on me, hear?”

“I want to. Dot’s heaven sounds so nice. But I’m saved so I know I won’t go to hell if she’s wrong. She probably is. Mormons are wrong about everything.”

Trey’s heart was rat-a-tat-tatting. He knew people who’d been near the end of their ropes and used the last of it to hang themselves. And that shit snowballed. One cat did it, somebody close to him got brave enough to do it, then before you knew it, six folks had dug their own graves. So knowing her mother had …

If it were me, I wouldn’t even know how to have hope.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to her hot temple. “Please. I need you, I do.”

“You got your speak,” she said dreamily. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“Marina, are you asleep?”

“I don’t think so. I want to be. I want you to go away so I can.”

“No, I ain’t goin’ away this time.”

“Go to the speakeasy. She means more to you than I do.”

“That’s not true. You’re the only person in this world who understands me, how I think. You’re the only person I know who likes to read and reads what I like, and can talk to me about it. You know all my secrets because I trust you more than anybody on Earth.”

“You, you, you. You and what you want.”

Oh, shit, she was right. “You’re gonna be a mama soon. What about the little’un?”

“I don’t care,” she sing-songed. “I didn’t want a baby and I hope it dies.”

She was still dangerously hot. “I know you didn’t, and I figured you did, and I know you don’t like kids much at all, but hang on for a little while? Just through the night? I need to fetch something.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you can give me?” she said archly, but like a drunk. Awake or sleep talking? Did it matter? It was all true.

“Home … ” he ventured. “Freedom?”

“Oh, yes. The freedom to die.”

“Please!” he begged. “I am sorry—”

“I know why now,” she said wistfully. “Something made her happy. So happy. It took her a long time to trust being happy. I know it did because it took me so long to get used to how it felt. And then it was taken away from her. I was so happy when we were courting. I didn’t trust it, but just when I started to let myself be happy, you went away and then all I did was hurt. And be sick. And then … we’ve been married for months and you’ve been trying to make me happy, and you did, even if you have a hiccup now and again—and the minute I let myself be happy again, you took it away from me.”

“I’m sorry about those things I said! I was jealous and— I came home to apologize because I knew I was wrong and— I know you were fibbing about going to Gale’s house. Because you were mad.”

“I said that to see if you’d believe me and you did! ’Cuz you always thought I was loose,” she slurred. “I was right. I knew I was.” She giggled. Coughed.

“Please, Marina! Can you not drown yourself while I’m gone?”

“Mmmmmmm,” she hummed as if considering it. “All right. Just through the night.”

Trey was about to break down, but he was desperate. He riffled through the medicine chest for aspirin and filled a glass with water. “Here, Sugga. Be a good wife and take these.”

She obeyed.

He ran downstairs and got the rest of the ice. It wasn’t making enough fast enough. When he returned, she was lying fully under the water looking very peaceful.

“Marina, Sugga, c’mon,” he pled as he pulled her head up. “You promised me you’d wait till morning.”

“Mmmmmmm, I wasn’t going to yet. It felt good. On my head.”

“You lean back now, and keep your eyes closed.” He felt her forehead. It was cooler, but it was probably from the water. He dumped all the ice he had into the water.

She screamed and tried to charge up, but he held her down. “Be a good wife. Gooooood wife,” he soothed.

She didn’t want to, but it was so ingrained, she was compelled.

“No, no. You promised me.”

She whimpered and tried to hug herself to get warm.

He drained some of the water and opened the cold tap.

“Trey!” she screeched and tried to get out again.

“If you get out now, you’ll die.”

“But I want to!” she cried. “God will take care of me and love me! Why can’t I have a family like Dot’s?”

“We can make one’a those ourselves,” he promised desperately.

“But I want someone to love and take care of me.”

“I do love you, Marina—”

“Lie. You like what I do for you. You love the speakeasy.”

“—an’ I’m tryin’a take care of you the only way I know how.”

“By leaving me alone almost all day and night to go work at that stupid speak you sold me for.”

Oh, God.

“And I wasn’t even yours to sell. You decided this. You and Boss Tom. Just ’cuz you saw me one day.”

“I’mma take you to Chicago, ’member? Stay a while, have a good time.”

“No, you’ll wanna come back as soon as business is finished. It’s her. Always her. She gives you what you need. You were right. Everybody was right. You don’t need a woman. You need her. If I’m not here, you’ll be free to be with her again.”

“No, Marina! The speak doesn’t love me—”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s my prison. I’m tryin’a break out, y’hear me? I come home to be free with you. I wanna make a family like Albright’s. With you.”

“It’ll be awfully hard to do when I go to God and he takes care of me. It’s too late for me here. I’m still a child of God and he’ll love me and protect me like I’m a child, the way Dot’s parents do. Dot can be happy again. She knows how. I won’t ever be.”

“Mornin’. You promised. Here. I brought you a NuGrape.”

She shook her head and pulled away from him when he put the bottle to her lips. He took a sip, then kissed her, tongue to tongue. “Taste good?”

“Mmm hm,” she whimpered, then took the bottle gingerly. It was ice cold.

He kept at it, but for how long he didn’t know. Cold tap. Pleading. Aspirin. Listening. NuGrape. Countering. Repeat.

By the time the west-facing window began to lighten, she was almost asleep. But she was cooling off.

“Hey, Sugga,” he murmured, nudging her a little. “Aspirin. Pop. Come on, now. It’s not morning yet.”

She raised her hands for the pills and bottle without opening her eyes or sitting up. In went the aspirin. Down went the pop. All of it.

Then she opened her bloodshot eyes. “It’s sunrise,” she whispered. “I can die now?”

“Not quite yet,” he said quickly. “How about we get you to bed? It’s warm there.” She was still shivering, but it wasn’t the desperate shiver of a fever. “Marina, I need to clean up those sores you won’t stop pickin’ at. That’s what your fever’s from.”

“My sores?” she asked, bewildered.

“Yeah, the ones you got when your mama beat you.” Right now, Trey would welcome a beating by someone much larger and stronger than he. “When you’re hurtin’ real bad inside or confused or scared, you scratch and pick it till it bleeds and then you scratched all the way around it and got more sores. ’Member I keep tellin’ you to take care of it?”

Her hand went to it automatically, but he grabbed it.

“It itches,” she whined.

“Yeah, I know you’re hurtin’ real bad inside,” he soothed, stroking her forehead, making her eyes close. “But it got infected. Meant to bandage it up in any case, but forgot.” He’d been too preoccupied. “You peeled off all the scabs and now they gotta start over again.”

You’re competing with Dot? I’m competing with college.

And Marina was competing with 1520.

“I didn’t mean to get it infected,” she apologized.

“I know you didn’t,” he said quickly.

“But now that I did—”

“No, no! Just a little while longer. How about a nap first?”

“A dirt nap,” she corrected gravely, then giggled again.

“Yeah that’s funny ha ha. Sugga, listen to me now and think. Where is the apple cider vinegar?”

“Pantry. Cold.”

“I know y’are. Just hang on.” He ran downstairs to get it and some cotton dishtowels. She was trying to climb out of the bathtub when he returned. Without a word, he helped her up and out, then sat her down on the toilet and draped a towel over her. “I need you to not fall over while I do this.” She wasn’t going to be able to hold herself up. “Grab the sink there, there’s a good wife.” He opened the bottle and soaked a towel in vinegar. She wrinkled her nose. “This is gonna sting, but you feel free to scream all you want.”

She tried to get away even before he touched her, but she was too dizzy to let go of the sink.

“Put your hand on my head. Dig in.”

Trey’s eyes watered with the force of her pulling his hair and his ears rang from her screams when he held the vinegar-soaked cloth over the long, wide-open gash on her arm. She sobbed at the ceiling, one hand in his hair, the other desperately clutching the sink. He repeated this several times, as her howls became less and less intense.

Finally, he threw the towel in the bathtub and waited until her sobs faded to mewls, then hiccups.

“Let me help you to bed so you can take a nap. I know you’re tired.”

“Blanket?” she whispered, exhausted.

“Yes. Warm.”

“All right,” she sighed.

He helped her to bed, turned her on her side, and asked, “Can you give me till noon?”

“I guess,” she slurred.

He found clean sheets, then ripped one into long strips. She whimpered sleepily when he poured more vinegar over the gash, then slipped one of the cotton strips around her arm, keeping a pad of vinegar-soaked cotton in place. He knotted it tightly.

She was asleep by the time he finished, but her breath was shallow and even. Her forehead was damp and cool, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Her fever had broken.

Now he had to keep her from finishing the job herself.

77B

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