The Old Lady

Alice peered through the curtains, it was still raining.  Not particularly hard, but raining nonetheless.  She made the decision to go anyway.
         Alice grabbed the telephone receiver and dialed.  After a short pause, “I’m going to the store.  I need to get some onions for dinner.”  There was no response from Alice’s daughter on the phone.  “Well, I should be back in 45 minutes.”  Alice didn’t notice she wasn’t even holding the phone.
         Alice had lived with her daughter, Susan, for about five years.  She was glad her daughter had agreed to take her in--the other choice was a “home.”  Alice didn’t like what she had heard at her bridge club about any “homes” they had been in.  So she begged her daughter to take her in.
         Alice finished wrapping up in her overcoat and grabbed a small umbrella from the vase by the door.  She went out into the cold drizzle; a slight headwind blew at her face.
         As she turned the corner of Maple and Birch streets, Alice noticed a car stopped on the bridge ahead.  Marshall Memorial Bridge had been built to honor state senator Howard P. Marshall--Alice could still remember voting for him shortly after she turned 21.
         The car, a boxy sedan, sat with the parking lights on and trunk ajar.  As Alice approached, a man stepped out from the driver’s side.  He was wearing a long dark trench coat and a brown fedora.  He quickly made his way to the slightly open trunk and finished what the release handle at the base of the driver’s seat had started.
         Alice stopped where she was.  She had been slightly past the corner of Maple and Birch.  She kept an eye on the obscure man.  Hoping she had not been noticed, she stepped behind some bushes.  Despite being a child of the Great Depression, Alice was agile for her age and insisted on walking daily.
         The man in the trench coat continued on with his work.  He was bent slightly at the waist and reached into the cavernous looking trunk.  Alice could tell he was struggling with something inside the opening.  The man now straightened his body, holding a large plastic bag in his arms.  This was no normal trash bag, more like an undersized body bag.
         Alice watched as the dark man moved towards the side of the bridge.  He must have felt her eyes burning holes in his back and quickly turned around.  His back was to the edge of the bridge.  At first he hadn’t noticed Alice crouching behind the bush.  But his jerking towards her had caused a problem.  In his sudden effort to look back, part of his cargo had escaped and was protruding from the opening of the bag.
         Alice screamed and managed to mutter, “My God.”  She hastily made the sign of the cross.  The man then stared straight at Alice.  She had hoped he wouldn’t see her.  The man quickly pushed a hand and part of an arm back into the black plastic bag.  Again he turned quickly, this time his back to Alice.  He tossed the bag and its once living contents over the edge.
         After what seemed like minutes, Alice heard a slight splash and thud as the bag hit bottom.  She opened her eyes hoping it was all a dream.  But the car was still parked on the bridge the trunk no longer wide open.  Alice didn’t see the man anywhere. 
Alice may have been agile for her age, but her sixth sense had become weak.  She sensed the man close to her a mere second before he came from behind.  He placed his large, warm hand over her mouth.  She began to squirm and scream under the man’s suffocating grasp.
         The man had reached around with his free arm and grabbed Alice by her waist.  He was carting her off to the sedan.  She wiggled the short distance back to the car and began gasping for breath.  Alice could smell the strong scent of cologne and was reminded of her dead husband’s cologne.
         When they reached the back of the car, the man set Alice on her feet.  He was holding her in place with his right hand still over her mouth.  He reached up with his left hand and opened the trunk.  Once the lid was up, he took Alice into his arms again and tossed her into the trunk much the way a child tosses a doll around.
         The last thing Alice remembered was the narrowing beam of light as the trunk lid came slamming down.
----
         “Is this Susan Atwater?”
         “Yes,” had been the only response Susan could manage in response to the stern sounding man on the phone.
         “Are you currently the caretaker for Alice Atwater?”
         “Yes...my mother.  She OK?”
         “I’m afraid you need to come down to Memorial Hospital.”
         Susan thought, what was he ‘afraid’ of and said, “OK.  What’s wrong?”
         “Ali...your mother, ma’am, we found her.”
         “You found her?  Found her where?”  Susan asked accusingly.
         “The police found her curled up fetal style in the parking lot of Plaza Shopping Center.  She was, well, mumbling for lack of a better word and freezing.”
         “Her Alzheimer’s, I didn’t think it was this bad yet.  I’ll be over.”  It was in this instance that Susan realized her mother would finally have to go ‘home’ and be where she was safe. 
Susan hung up the phone.  The smirk of contentment grew on her lips.