Kiko knows this girl. In fact, he prides himself on knowing everything about her. Just twelve, the child is called Marcella. 4703 Phoebe Drive, the green house shaded by the three tall magnolias. Her two younger brothers, Edwin and Anthony, call her Tita. Her parents work during the day, her father stooping in the asparagus fields and her mother housekeeping at the Holiday Inn. Until five o’clock each afternoon Marcella and her brothers are home, alone.
But Kiko also knows that on Wednesday evenings Marcella’s parents board a bus, which takes them to the Indian Casino, where they remain until midnight. Wednesday. Two days from now. That’s when Kiko intends to abduct this child.
He watches Marcella skip past his window, watches her continue along the sidewalk on her way to the green house at the end of the block, watches her -- and smiles. He knows everything he needs to know about this girl in order to have her. Everything.
Just after nine o’clock on Wednesday evening, Kiko crouches in the shadow of one of the three towering magnolias at 4703 Phoebe Drive. Through a curtainless window, he sees the light. It is a grainy, shifting intensity of color and brightness which flashes from a television inside the house. Now and again one of the younger boys call out to their older sister, call out to Tita Marcella and ask her for something or another.
He waits, patiently. He has, after all, until midnight.
10 PM. Quietly, Kiko emerges from brushy shadows and creeps across the yard to the window. A dry twig cracks underfoot. Kiko freezes. His heart climbs into his throat. Only when he is sure no one is rushing to the window to investigate, does he proceed again, cursing his carelessness.
At the window he peers through the glass. The two boys haven’t spoken a word for over an hour. They must have gone to bed. He spots Marcella. Still awake, she lies on the sofa in front of the blaring television. The child’s attentions are on a book she holds above her face. Her long, black hair falls over her shoulder and her sun browned legs, sticking out from the hem of her pink nightgown, are crossed at the ankles.
Kiko licks his lips and presses his forehead against the glass, which quickly clouds from his hot, hot breaths. When Marcella rises to her elbows and glances toward the window, Kiko drops beneath the sill. Had she seen him? He blots his sticky palms on his pant legs and once again his heart gallops.
For a long time he remains crouched with his back against the home’s aluminum siding. An uncontrollable shiver grips his entire body. Had she seen him? He wonders this again. Does she know he’s been watching? Does she know he’s been waiting? Maintaining a low stoop, Kiko hurries around the house to the backyard, where he finds a window jarred. He is elated. He places his palms beneath the metal frame and begins to raise the window. The window groans. Again Kiko freezes.
After waiting a few minutes he lifts the window the rest of the way up and throws a leg over the sill, climbing into the house. It is Marcella’s parents bedroom. Kiko knows this. The sudden recollection that he knows everything gives him an incredible boost of confidence. He pads across the room to the door, and from the door into the hallway, where he follows the pulsing glow of light coming from the living room.
Trying to control his breathing, trying to calm his anxiety, trying to ease his excitement, Kiko braces himself, his back against the wall and counts backward from ten. Then, when his breathing slows, he pokes his head around the corner.
Nothing. No one. Only a television. Where had she gone?
A wisp of cold air tingles the back of Kiko’s neck. He slowly pulls his head back, turns around and finds himself staring directly in Marcella’s eyes. Green eyes. Green glowing eyes. The child grins.
Kiko opens his mouth to scream, but cannot. The child’s cold hands blanket his white knuckles. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Marcella says. “I’ve been planning this for a long time.”
The tiniest moan escapes Kiko’s throat.
Marcella opens her mouth, wide, baring large teeth.
With his mouth still open, Kiko’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Every inch of his body begins to quake. From his gaping mouth a charcoal colored vapor begins to curl out. The mist swirls, round and round and Marcella rounds her lips. She draws the stream of dark fog into her mouth and slowly, Kiko shrivels, shrivels, shrivels into a mound of dust.
Marcella presses her lips together. For a long time she stares at the dust on the carpet at her feet before finally smiling. She heads to the kitchen for a foxtail and dustpan.
Whirling around inside Marcella, are the memories and thoughts of Kiko. Marcella giggles, thinking how funny it is that this man, even now inside of her, still believes he knows everything.
0 comments:
Post a Comment