Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 3- Momma Peaches

I wake up choking on rancid air and burning oil and then struggle to lift my head and open my eyes.

I can't see shit and every bone in my old body hurts. Coughing makes my chest feel like it's on fire and my head feels like it's stuffed with bricks.

SQUUUUEEEEEKKK.

A door's rusted hinges threaten to pop my eardrum as a whoosh of cool air eases the burn in my chest. "Lady. Lady. Are you all right?" a frantic woman asks, shaking my shoulder.

"Aaaaagh!" I knock her hand off of me. "What are you tryna do, kill me?" I glare at her, but I'm confused as to why she looks like a blurry smudge. I blink, but it gets worse.

"I'm sorry, but do you know what you just did?" she asks.

"You saved my life."

"I did? Well, who the hell are you?" I blink again. "Why in the hell can't I see shit?" The smudge inches closer.

"You were in a car accident," she says.

I was? I think for a moment and memories come rushing back to me. Darkness. Pain. Hunger. Alice—my sister. The crazy bitch kidnapped me. I remember now. Alice snatched me from my own house after she killed Cedric. I've been locked up for months. More memories race by until I'm nauseous and I start to dry heave. Every muscle in my body locks up. I haven't eaten in a long time.

"Are you sure you're all right?" the woman asks, sounding shaken up herself. I nod and peel my eyes open.

I need to get to the hospital. Everything remains a blur—but I'll live. Thank God. Pushing away the deflated air bag, I turn in my seat and attempt to climb out of the van. But I forget I only have one leg and I hit the ground. Thump.

"Aw, shit!"

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Yeah. Just help me up." I swing an arm around her shoulder. Despite my ass being thin as a rail, it takes some time and work to get me propped up.

By the time I'm up on my good leg, I'm a sweaty mess—but at least my vision is clearing up. The white woman in front of me has blond hair and large, frightened blue eyes. But she's fucked up with a busted lip and a purple bruise over her left temple. Dribbles. I remember now. She stole my nephew Mason.

"Look. We gotta get out of here," Dribbles says. "We need to find help. Okay? Let's go!" I ignore her hysterics and look around.

"Where is Alice? I need to see her."

"Forget about her." Dribbles directs me back to the van. "She's dead. All right? We have to go."

"There she is." I swat Dribbles's hands away, brace myself against the van, and then hop toward the hood. By the time I make it, my vision is twenty-twenty and I take in the bloody scene in front of me. The top half of Alice's body is folded over the hood of the van while the rest of her is pinned against the oak tree. But she's not dead. Not yet. She's trembling while small bubbles of blood form around her mouth.

"Alice," I gasp, shaking my head.

"Leave her," Dribbles begs, tugging my arm. "We have to go."

With my gaze locked on my baby sister, I fight off the woman's grabby hands again. "Child, go on and sit down and calm your nerves," I tell her. "We'll get out of here soon enough." Dribbles sobs, but falls back to let me do what I gotta do.

I hobble up close and brush back globs of Alice's hair so that I can see her face better. Under the moonlight, Alice resembles the fragile twelve-year-old girl I remember nearly forty years ago—the same little girl who was raped by my former cokehead boyfriend, Leroy. He ripped her world apart and despite killing him, she was never the same. Years later, Alice was a strung-out junkie who dumped her first kid on me and then bounced.