Dead of March

-Contains gun violence.-

The whipping march wind lashed against the side of the little house on Clair Ave. It banged the loose shutters and screamed to be let inside the warm bungalow. Daniel huddled by the flame of the gas heater. His newly wed wife clung to his arms as she nuzzled her face in his chest. They had drawn the blinds and turned off the lights, seeking asylum within their four cream-colored walls painted not even a week ago.

“I’m sorry.” He smoothed her frizzled strains of hair and drew her tight against him. Black mascara smeared across his pale blue dress shirt as she lifted her eyes. “It was quick. He didn’t feel a thing.” His words were distant, as if he were speaking of a mouse caught in a trap. My God, it wasn’t quick, it was anguish and blood-curdling. He touched the tip of his tongue to his cracked lips. Rachel balled her hands, clenching his shirt into her fists as her deep, guttural sobs filled the once peaceful home. “You will be alright, love.” He whispered into her silky golden hair. “You’ll go back to your mom. She’ll need help now that your father is gone, and you’ll need her when I-” The words caught, but she knew.

“No! I can’t lose you!” She beat her fist against his shoulders, her anger rooted in grief and fear, and he swallowed her up in his young arms.

“Stop, we can’t fight this, Rachel. I saw, and Paul won’t take the chance of letting me talk.” Her eyes quivered, begging, praying that this nightmare would turn back into the cotton candy dream it had been.

“Maybe he doesn’t know you saw. We’ll call Cory.” A crazed smile eclipsed her face as she fiercely dashed for the phone, but Daniel grabbed her, tackling her down, and crushing her slight weight under him.

“You are going to get your bother killed too if you don’t stop this foolishness.” Cory could help if he wasn’t out of his mind at this hour. Rachel struggled underneath him, trying to reach the phone that was five feet away. “Don’t waste what time we have left.”

A hard rapping shook the front door. Rachel ceased thrashing and peered up at her husband’s face with green widowed eyes.

“The door.” Her lips said, although her voice didn’t make a sound.

“Smile, Rachel. He can’t know I told you.” He dried her tears and slung his hoodie over his ruined shirt.

Paul strolled into the house he had only visited once and hung his brown waxed coat on a peg as cried raindrops puddled beneath it.

“Quite the storm outside.” He said, looking his niece over, who smiled brightly, though her cloudy eyes were dull. He kissed her cheeks. “You look prettier every time I see you.” He showed himself to the kitchen table without a glance in Daniel’s direction. Behind him, his son Jacob followed like a trained droopy eared hound. Standing by his father’s side with his hands clasped together while Paul sat and thoughtlessly tapped his golden pinky ring on the tabletop.

“What brings you, Uncle Paul?” Rachel fumbling for a mug in the cupboard, trying to steady her trembling hands. She poured four cups of hot coffee, but they sat untouched at the table.

“I’ve brought something for my favorite nephew.” He smiled, reaching into his pocket. Daniel's stomach jumped into his throat, silencing his frightened cry.

“Are you alright, my boy?” Paul asked, dropping a fat stack of money held together by a gold plated clip in the shape of a C. Hush money. Daniel sipped from his mug, trying to keep his eyes from climbing the mountain of cash.

“I’m fine, Uncle Paul.” He said, biting back the nervous squeal in his voice. He could keep quiet his whole life, never tell a single soul what he had seen. He glanced at his wife, and his heart thrummed. Dear God, he had already told.

“I figure I owe you some money. You did some work for me at the office earlier, did you not?” Without thinking, Daniel nodded and Paul’s face contorted into a wicked, knowing smile that struck him with the force of lightning.

“Uncle Paul, I am expecting!” Rachel’s hands fluttered over her empty abdomen. She was a desperate liar, but Paul leaned back in his chair, digesting the news. The lines in his face became soft, and he loosened a few hundred dollars from his clip and tossed them her way.

“You’ll have beautiful a child.” He reached across the table pinched her chin as he had done when she was a young girl. “Daniel,” Paul unsteadily stood and leaned on Daniel as he stretched his stiff knee. “You’ll need more work, won’t you, son? Why don’t we step out and talk about it?” He held one shoulder with his each massive hand and ground his thumbs into his tight shoulder blades. What would happen when there was no baby? Broken fingers or a cracked skull? Paul leaned down, his rank breath bellowed in his face as he crooned. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Mud sopped into Daniel’s untied shoes as he marched between Paul and Jacob into the dense patch of trees behind his house. Trees he and his son would have used to play hide and seek and hang a tire swing, but there was no child and there never would be. Whirls of the late winter wind swept up dead leaves and danced like twirling ballerinas. He envisioned his soul being swept along in that eternal forest dance. What a place to die. “You’re a good boy, Daniel.” Paul said, as if talking to an old dog who had served his master well before being put down. A dog would have a headstone, but he would have nothing to mark where his body became bone. Paul flicked a finger at Jacob, who stopped walking, and waited for his father where the trail bent.

“You’ve been like my father, Paul. Can’t we work things out?” He would not grovel or degrade himself. They slopped on deeper into woods as the sun bruised the sky. “What about Rachel?”

“She’ll be looked after. Let’s hope she has a little beauty like her, and not a nosy little boy like you.” Paul pushed him forward, but Daniel’s knees shook violently, crumbling his brave pose.

“Paul, I wasn’t being nosy. I didn’t see or hear anything!” He choked on the dangerous words that betrayed himself. “Please, Paul!” He whimpered. Paul drew him in and kissed his forehead.

“Go on like a man, Daniel.” To die like a man was to wail and plead on your knees as you wet your pants, begging for the mercy of God, it happens quickly. One shoe was suctioned off his foot by the mud, but he didn’t need it. He continued. Paul stood, watching him walked alone, five feet, ten feet. Would he shoot at fifteen or twenty? Blinding light and a sound like cracked lightning, and then his breath, stolen by the crippling pain torn in his side. He sobbed in the dirt, rolling and writhing like a pig wallowing in a sty. Blood spilled to the rhythm of his pounding heart. He pressed his hand to the gaping hole as four more shots competed with his cry. Then silence crept out from the darkness and stretched one minute into hours. Until warm hands pressed down on his chest. He was being dragging by his feet through the blistering cold north wind that whirled his spirit from the clutches of his body, and it joined the dance of march.

Foggy eyes settled on the egg shell ceiling tiles while a man called him back to a state of lucid thought.

“I thought you had frozen to death.” Cory said, leaning from the velvet armchair as he examined his sloppy stitchwork holding Daniel’s torn flesh together. “That will scar, but Rachel probably won’t mind. She seems pretty attached to you.” He grinned, flicking his eyes to Rachel, who sat on the bed, one leg crossed over the other while she counted a stack of bills clipped with a golden C.

“Just take your money, Cory, and keep your mouth shut.” Cory snatched the bills from her shaking hand.

“We are family, Rachel. I know Daniel will do the same for me.” There were unspoken words between them as he let his hand linger. Rachel pulled a white linen wrapping something heavy. Cory snatched it. Whatever transpired in woods behind the little yellow house was secret, seen only by the march wind.