Mary Ellen goes home- Part 2
By: Deena Thomson
Tags: Fiction, Novela, Writing, Fiction Writing, Short Story

Short story Fiction

Mary Ellen goes home- Part 2

Photo by willsantt from Pexels

Mary Ellen followed the man in the filthy jeans out of the bus stop and back out into the bright sunshine of the day. She held her valise clutched in both hands, knocking her knees against it as she walked.

The man turned to her. He scratched behind his ear as he saw her struggling with the case.

“Here, I got that” he reached out to take her bag and she yanked it away, her face appalled.

“You will not” She spat out. She pressed her lips tight and glared at this grubby man behind the shield of her sunglasses. “I can carry my own bag, thank you very much.” She released one of her hands and switched the bag to her side.

The man shrugged.

“Whatever ever man.” He declared nonchalant. “Just trying to help. No need to get yourself all worked up. Ain’t like I am going to steal some girly suitcase.” He turned and continued walking, leaving her trailing behind him.

“It’s a valise. A vintage valise.” She hurrying up her step. It dawned on her that she probably shouldn’t offend this guy who was her only ride.

“Looks like an old suitcase to me.” He replied not bothering to look back.

Opened mouth, she didn’t say anything and kept on following.

Who was this guy? Why had Merrily sent him to get her? Why wasn’t she here? It was the least she could do after all these years.

She thought of her sister. Her twin. She hadn’t seen Merrily in nearly twenty years. Since they were eighteen years old. Her mind went back to the last time she had seen her. The argument, the confrontation.

She blinked trying to forget the memory of her sister yelling at her as she walked out the door. A beaten-up gym bag slung over her shoulder. The snow had fallen and the ground was covered in sheets of untouched snow.

“You can’t leave me, Mary Ellen! You can’t leave me alone with only him.” Merrily begged after her. She hung out the door, her long dark hair hanging limp in her face. She clutched the rim as though it were a floating device and it would save her from drowning.

Mary Ellen hadn’t even bothered to turn around. She just kept on walking as fast as she could as Merrily’s pleads continued to ring in her ears.

“What is your name?” She blurted out. The man paused, his shoulders’ perking up. Mary Ellen noticed his jean jacket collar was pulled up around his ears. Something the kids use to do back in the day, to look cool. How old was this guy? Twelve?

He cocked his head slightly. His dark hair fell across his forehead, one curled lock falling just above his right eye.

She stopped in her tracks, her heart squeezed. Those eyes. A translucent blue. She thought of a wolf coming out of the forest, eyes centered on its prey. For a moment she felt her breath escape her.

Was she attracted to him?

Ew, gross. She shuddered. She needed to get out more. When was the last time she was with a man? Too long apparently.

“Randy, Mary Ellen,” he said letting out a snort. He turned and continued to walk towards the parking lot.

She wrinkled her brown. What was with the attitude?

Randy. Typical. He looked like a Randy. She exhaled through her nose and continued to trudge behind him.

They stopped at a rusty white 1990 Chevrolet Silverado.

Taking the keys he still had in his hands Randy opened up the front door and climbed into the driver’s side. He reached over to the passenger’s seat and manually clicked open the lock.

Mary Ellen stood glued to the spot. This guy was a stranger. Wonder if he was a serial killer? Wonder if he didn’t even know Merrily? Even if he does know Merrily that didn’t mean he was safe to be alone in a truck with. Merrily wasn’t exactly a great read of personal character.

Wonder if they crashed?

Randy shut the side door of the driver’s side and unwind the window. Sticking his head out he looked back at her.

“Ain’t got all day, Sister”

Ugh. Sister.

The very word Sister raised her anxiety level.

Randy still watching her hit the side of the door.

“Giddy up girl. Time’s a-wasting.” His eyes softened and for a moment she swore there was something familiar about him.

She shook her head and started towards the truck.

This place.

Everything about this place unsettled her. She reached for the rusty handle of the truck. The door creaked in protest. The smell of stale smoke bellowed out, assaulting her nose. Her hand flew to her face unable to help but cough lightly into the palm of her white-gloved hand.

She stared at her hand. When had she put on gloves? That was strange. She didn’t recall putting them on. She shrugged it off and leaned into the truck. Swiping the seat of unseen dirt before she sat down.

Randy sat watching. Unable to keep his eyes off of her.

Like the wolf stalking its prey. She thought. She looked straight ahead. Her eyes focused on the view past the filthy windshield. She could hear Randy snicker beside her and keys jingling as the ignition of the truck clicked on.

The engine roared into action. She sat stiff, unmoving. Her back straight, her gloved hands clasping the handle of her bag.

Randy said nothing as they pulled out of the parking lot leaving the bus station behind them.

He turned onto the main street and she recognized the route. It was the same one she had last taken in this God-forsaken town. Only she’d been going the opposite direction toward the bus station.

Her mind wandered to that last day again. Her hair long dark hair in a ponytail, stuffed inside her knit cab.

It was winter. The snow was falling. Everything was white and cold. Sterile.

Mary Ellen!

Her sister’s cry from the door of the house they grew up in.

Please, don’t go! Don’t leave me here alone!

Her sister begging her. Pleading. Her voice hoarse from her efforts. Mary Ellen could still hear it. It was the sad sound of mourning and despair. She had squeezed her eyes shut to it all and pulled her knit hat down further over her ears. Trying to drown out the sounds of her sister’s pain and suffering. She walked faster, her feet crunching crisp on the fallen snow. Each step pressing into the hard crust that had already started to freeze on the ground.

She’d never looked back. Until now.

She glanced at Randy. He was tapping his fingers lightly on the worn leather steering wheel. Humming along to a miserable country song playing low on the old radio. She recognized it. It was an oldie. Dolly Parton singing about a little girl and her dog. A little girl who would die for no apparent reason. It always bothered her why no one ever questions this song. Like it was normal for little girls to be out in the cold with their dog and then die at a stranger’s house.

She leaned her elbow against the side window and rested her chin in her hand. She allowed herself to close her eyes, letting the words of Dolly drown out thoughts of her sister. Why hadn’t the woman in the song called the authorities? How did the child die? How would that woman explain the child’s death the next morning? Country music made no sense.

She felt herself drifting off. Dolly singing about angels taking children to heaven lingering in her ear.