The Lamb and the Gray Battle

September 17, 2022

 Brantley beeped his horn from his Ford Focus, but a whole minute passed and Evie didn't appear. She hadn't responded to his text either. The cats were reaching up to the door and strutting across the front porch. The cock crowed from the backyard. Brantley got out of his car, knocked. One of the cats clawed into his leg. All the dishes were empty.

Brantley banged on the door. "Evie!"

With his luck, Evie's head wound was as bad as he thought and she'd been taken to the hospital. Except an ambulance never came. He would have heard it.

"Evie!"

He texted his mom, who appeared a couple of minutes later. She pulled the key out from under the mat and let herself in.

"Feed the cats," she said to Brantley.

Dylan trailed behind his mother, a bologna sandwich in his hand.

"Evie," Jo called out.

She found her huddled up in the hallway. She was an orange mountain, still, silent. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red and the red curls shivered.

Jo put an arm around her. "Evie, what's wrong?"

The petrified stillness shifted into torrential screams, the walls shaking with their force. Evie's lip bled, she bit down on it so hard and the blue eyes were dim and glassy. When she released her lower lip, it started quivering and a flood took over. Somehow, Jo made out, "Gran is dead," from the deluge of blubbering.

"Oh no," Jo said. "I'm so sorry."

She took Evie into her arms and hugged her, rocked with her. Evie's hair writhed on her shoulders, announced the horror seconds before the tears warped her face. No amount of screaming would bandage her wound and she didn't stop. The paint on the ceiling cracked. Brantley put his hands up against the walls to steady himself. Earthquakes weren't common in Ohio. Um, ever. But Brantley couldn't imagine what else could cause the shaking.

He shook it off. He'd check the news later. A note was lying on the floor.

Mam, I haven't heard from you today. Are you all right? Love you!

Brantley turned back to the sobbing Evie, discarded the note on the hall table. When his father died, his mother had screamed like that. Evie's body jerked, thumped against Jo's arms. Horror-struck, Brantley couldn't look away. Slobber spilled from her lips and snot poured from her nose like a broken faucet. Jo pet the thrashing hair.

During a gasp, Jo asked, "How did she die?"

Evie had no control over her own body, more tears splashing down.

"What did the doctors say?"

A vortex of shrieks, but she coughed out, "Gran hated doctors."

"They must have told you something."

Evie's eyes were as large as saucers and lakes filled the caverns of delicate skin.

"Wow, it's a body!" Dylan said. The largest dog, Cassie, stole his sandwich, but Dylan was preoccupied with taking pictures.

Jo raced to her son, jerked him back. Sure enough, Gran was stretched out on the bed, but her mouth had been wiped down and her hands folded on her chest.

"You didn't call nine-one-one?"

Evie's head lolled from side to side, but it wasn't really an answer. Jo was the one on the phone making sensible decisions. Brantley knelt down next to Evie, took her by the arm. He didn't even notice that her forehead wound was gone.

"I'm here for you, Evie. You can count on me."

Evie's eyes cleared for a minute, but the words were strange. What truly jarred Evie was an elderly woman with too much makeup and a cigarette hanging from her lips shuffling into the little ranch house.

Taffy said, "Aoibh, you set off the office alarms."

Evie tore free from Brantley, seized the little white woman. Taffy took a demon sedation bandage and placed it on her arm without a single person in the room realizing what the flesh colored bit of fabric was. Taffy came up to Evie's shoulder and was a twig of a woman. Evie bent her backward, sobbed into her shoulder. Just as Jo had mystically figured out Evie's sobs, so had Taffy.

Sirens wailed, but they weren't as loud as Evie's cries. A police officer and paramedics team burst into the house, the metal storm door banging as it slammed shut.

Evie shot up. "What are you doing?"

Taffy, who looked like a paper mache doll, grabbed Evie and held her back. A miracle that the woman didn't choke on her cigarette.

The medical personnel confirmed Gran was dead, had probably been dead for several hours. A few minutes later, more police came, one who took pictures of the scene.

"Cool," Dylan yelped.

"Dylan, go home!"

"Ah, Mom!"

"Now," Jo yelled.

Dylan trudged out of the room as if his injury were the worst in the house.

Evie pushed to get to her grandmother. "Get your hands off of her."

"Ma'am, step back please."

Taffy held Evie fast. Evie wasn't small. She was 5'10 and had a well-nourished middle.

"That's my grandmother!" the force of Evie's voice dulled, but still ten times that of an average human being. "Leave her alone."

Taffy said, "It's the law, sweetie."

The police shoved Evie out of the way. All of Evie's energy was funneled into her sobs and she couldn't help stumbling back. Jo was the one doing all the talking.

"An autopsy has to be performed," the officer said. "We have to confirm her death wasn't foul play."

"Foul play?"

Evie's knees buckled. Brantley captured her before Evie collapsed and crushed Taffy. On the couch, Taffy was able to mollify Evie, stroked her hand.

"Taffy, they're taking Gran from me."

Once again, she became a well of grief, with all the liquids and muck associated with it.

"I'll get a hold of Mr. Dethewaite. We'll get the body released as soon as we can."

Evie's mouth was coated in mucous. "But they're taking her now."

Taffy reached up to pat Evie on the top of the head. "Sweetie, I know. This is standard procedure."

"Why can't I have her body?" Evie said, sinking to the carpeted floor. "She's my grandmother. She belongs with me."

Taffy adjusted on the couch. "Evie, honey, I promise. As soon as I can get the body released, I'll have your grandmother returned to you."