Canvas

Her cries echoed off the wall of the tomb in quiet hiccups of control, sobs that murmured childhood. Her carefully curled blonde hair tumbled, reeking of bleach, over her knees as she hugged them tightly to her chest. She raised her head quickly with a start as if suddenly realizing the emptiness of the room. There had been a voice, not her own, resounding in her head, coming from somewhere she couldn’t identify. She remembered the slick, cold, feel of velvet colored silk sheets below her naked body, and so much quiet it hurt. Then crashing, and screaming, and hurting. Dark, faceless men, pill bottles that bore her name, but did not fit in her memory, were being slung onto her bed stand carelessly. A pressure bore against her swan like neck, her palms beating the slickness that more often than not gave her comfort.

She rested her cheek again to her green dress. “Stop!!!!” she screamed to the nothingness, her body lurched forward as if she might be violently ill.
Although she felt there should be panic for her confusion of her location, there wasn’t. She let her head fall back like a weight against the beautiful, brilliantly white marble, above her a single red rose hung precariously out of an iron, penny colored vase. She craned her head to study it, wondering how often tombs received flowers. Roses were always her favorite. She sniffed away the tears, dabbing at her nose a little with the handkerchief pinned at her wrist. She took the side of her ring finger and lifted the wetness away from her lids to preserve her makeup that made her rounded cheekbones a cheery color of pink.
It’s so, so quiet, she thought to herself. So quiet.
“Norma?”
“Yes?” her head shot up instinctively at the call of her name.
“Here again? I thought for sure our long talk yesterday had made you see things more clearly,” he situated his grey colored hat upon his perfectly combed tawny colored hair, without a hair out of place she noted. He looked FBI, for sure he was FBI or a very important policeman, for there was no other reason for the neatness of his suit with nary a wrinkle. But besides the air of importance that stirred around his perfection he looked kind. His brown eyes sparkled in a wisp of recognition that she couldn’t identify anymore then the reason she was standing in the tomb that could have very well have been the burial place of the admirable Abraham Lincoln. “Oh, wait, that’s not right, am I in Washington, or New York?” she thought inwardly. She didn’t know. The night before was the only swirling blur that seemed to be what her mind could churn up.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she sniffled again, sounding like a little mouse, “Who…are you?”
“Norma, Norma, Norma,” he repeated himself, his mouth turning up into a slightly menacing smile, his moustache, which was the same rusty color of his hair, rose like they always did in the movies. The kind of black and white movie where the images ran faster, and faster with tinny music, as the man in the suit tied the damsel to the rail-road tracks.
“I’m Jack, remember?” he took a step closer, it was then she noticed he was smoking; he tossed it to the marble, leaving a smudge on the flawless stone.
“Jack Malone, we meet here almost every day, until the sun starts to set,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
She shook her head, forgetting her tears for a moment, “We do? I’m afraid I don’t remember much right now,” she gave a nervous giggle that tinkled like very expensive crystal.
“Yeah, honey, everyday, come on, let’s get ya out of here…I’m not all that sure why ya still stay in this tomb. Just cause he visits once a week, leaving flowers, don’t give ya a reason to stick around. Besides, ya’ll aren’t even together anymore,” he offered an elbow, one hand still in deep in the pocket of his silver suit.
She took a calculated look around, noticing just how cold the tomb was, but then again tombs are supposed to be cold right? She pushed herself up from the floor, careful that her pale green Italian silk dress wouldn’t ride up, revealing her stockings too much. She stood for a moment, leery of the extended elbow.
“Come on Doll, I’m not gonna bite, come on,” he coaxed her like a frightened rabbit.
“Alright then,” she pressed her delicate white hands that looked so very striking against the darkness of his suit. Her nails were cherry red, no chips, in fact that they looked freshly painted. As she noticed this she checked her left hand, no ring, not even a tan line to where one might have been.
“Why don’t I remember you, or why I’m here?” she asked him as he escorted her from the mouth of the marble like one would down a red carpet.
“We all forget now and then while we’re here…just the name of the game I spose’, ya see Franklin over there,” he pointed across the vast amount of brightly green lawn lined with thousands of multicolored roses, pink and white carnations, and lilies with mouths wide open. There was a fountain at the middle, flowing water that looked almost golden against the setting of the sun, the twinkling of city danced like Christmas lights against the horizon as every window seemed to catch the light.
“Franklin, I’m not sure I know who--” she began.
“Hells bells, he’s chasing squirrels again, well never mind then, he’s mighty forgetful himself. He’s from South Dakota, use to work for the Senate before he went Looney Tunes after a big, um, well it’s not begettin’ of a lady. Let’s just say he abused his power. Anyhow, he wakes up every morning, wonderin’ where he is, who he is, but by about oh, say nightfall a little light flickers on and he’s his old self. Too bad it’s nearly night fall, doesn’t do him much once the sun sets, that’s curfew,” he gave her pale hand a squeeze when he felt her wide blue eyes turn towards him sharply, “We’re alright though, no hurry.”
“Franklin’s from South Dakota is that far from here?” she asked, shading her eyes from the bright orange sun.
“Mighty far, we’re in Hollywood Darlin’,” he smirked with a laugh, that devilish mustache curling.
“Hollywood, oh goodness, really? I was almost sure we were in Washington, I was very sure,” she gave another nervous giggle that sounded like a little girl’s, “I thought I was in Abraham Lincoln’s tomb, isn’t that silly?”
“You always talk about Washington, a little anyway; sure wish you could tell me why it’s so important.”
“I know a man there, a real important man, I think,” she scrunched her brow, “Oh Golly, I just don’t know, it’s important I know. He’s very handsome, and I think we were together.” she could see expensive hotel rooms, tables of champagne, candles, and her fingers going over a string of pearls at her throat.
“Ah love, that will give you many a reason to want to forget. I was with the bell of the county before I traveled here, she was a real beauty. Life gets in the way, I had to leave her behind, but oh well, I get to walk with you every night because of that huh?”
“Do you? I just feel so silly not knowing you, Jack, especially when you know me,” she conveyed coyly.
“Don’t worry bout that, you usually remember me eventually, so don’t give it another thought.”
“Who’s that over there, that sad man,” she stretched an arm to point, and with that action the man she spoke up looked up from his book revealing large lava dark eyes, and soft brown hair, he gave a nod and returned to his reading, “He’s like a little boy isn’t he, so prim and proper, and handsome.”
“That’s Cornel, he doesn’t talk to many people, least of all women, specially those that are as pretty as ya’ll, he’s as shy as they come,” he gave a wave himself, and as Norma received, merely an acknowledgment.
“So, uh, giving that I really don’t know you, where are you from?” she returned her hand to the other, feeling the nip of the chilly evening settling carefully onto her flesh, raising goose pimples over her arms.
“Originally from Atlanta, but moved to Alabama for work, I use to be a cop down there, it was a real mess when I left. Damn, ain’t nobody getting along down there, last incident was a riot, between black and white. Always against black and white, sad, mighty, mighty sad. That was my last night there,” he pursed his lips, a presence of sadness, and longing for somewhere far from where they walked.
“Goodness, a cop, that sounds awful scary, all those angry people out to get you,” she felt the nudge of the night before, or the memory of some night, perhaps years ago she wasn’t sure. The crashing, broken vases, shades being hastily pulled down causing a loud snap to resonate in her ears. There was her own voice calling out, calling out for no one, anyone, someone to please come, and help her. Surely the maid below would hear her screams, even as muffled as they were. She would come to stop the pressure on her throat, the knees in her back as she felt her eyes bulge with pressure, she could taste the silk as it was forced into her downturn face. Not enough air, not enough air! Snap!
“Norma?” Jack’s voice cut through the nightmare, he pulled her close with one arm so her face, wet with failed mascara and tears, was welcome to fall against his shoulder, “Hey, you’re alright, just a bad dream, alright? Waking dreams, my mama always told me bad dreams can come back to haunt you even when the sun’s out, did you know that?”
“No, I never heard that, something bad happened Mr. Malone, something real bad, but I just can’t place it. Someone wants to hurt me, or already hurt me, I feel it,” she raised a hand to her throat, feeling around the thinness of it as if the answer would be there pressed into her flesh.
“Call me Jack, and no, no, no one wants to hurt you, no one can hurt you anymore, you’re with me and that ain’t ever gonna happen,” he tried to assure.
His words, although the perfect line of comfort, merely buzzed above her head, never making contact. She pulled away, her eyes locked with his in a fresh horror,
“Look here, look at my neck, I feel something there, like a bite or a cut, there has to be,” she tugged back her blonde hair, “Look,” she said more forceful.
“You ain’t ever been this assertive,” he said with concern, but he complied, he brushed back her blonde hair, eyeing her flesh carefully, “You got an awful lot a makeup back here, you got a hanky or something?”
Her heart was racing as she took the beautiful white handkerchief, with the rose sewn into the corner, and placed it in his large calloused hands, “Here.”
“Hold still Norma, I’m gonna see,” he dabbed the cloth to his tongue, and using the dampness rubbed away the caked makeup that looked as though it would most certainly stain her very expensive label dress, “Yeah, you got some bruises back here, big ones, look like someone got a hold of ya Darlin’.”
She snatched the handkerchief from his hand, and pressed it to her lips to hide the cry that would escape like a bird call. The panic returned, the sounds, the pain. She went running, despite being in her heels, she could feel every clump of dirt rise up behind her, which almost felt like nipping at her heels, she yelped at this feeling but kept running. Of everything she’d experience today, this seemed the only thing that she recognized. Fear. Wanting to run, wanting to scream, but being painfully denied by powerful hands, rough and hard, taking life from her.
“Norma, wait!” she could hear Jack yelling behind her.
She kept running, the world around here whizzing by as if she were in a fast moving automobile, a baby blue Cadillac, with shimmering silver rims. The top down, her arms up into the air as the wind tossed up her hair like flying cotton. Her skinny strapped, ruby-red dress allowed the fresh California air to rush over her flesh like a warm bath. Her laugh, high and squealing as the road streamed by, a young gentleman beside her laughing at her antics.
The brief image dissipated like a slap when she tripped onto the wet, freshly cut green grass, “Whoa there, you need to slow down, with all these stones, you could really hurt yourself,” a woman’s voice, deeper than her own piped up, offering a hand just as slender as her own reached out and helped her up from the damp earth.
“I got spooked I guess,” she trembled, and that same burst of giggles tumbled out of her aching throat.
“You’re Marilyn, right?”
“Uh, no, I’m Norma,” she was shaking hard, but not from cold, her eyes looking around for Jack, not meaning to really leave him behind.
“Oh, well, can’t remember them all I suppose, I’m Bettie,” she smiled, her hair was the color of a flock of ravens, and fell down her shoulders like night-time water, her bangs were cut sharply across her forehead, revealing eyes equally dark but soft like black sand from a foreign beach.
“Bettie,” she repeated, hoping it would stick to her frenzied brain, “Do you know why you’re here? Or me?”
“Oh Honey,” she said sadly, shaking her head, bringing a lit cigarette to her blood red lips, “Life’s a bitch, huh?”
“Norma, don’t go running off like that, you look damn near close to a blonde haze when you run that fast, I don’t wanna lose you before sunset,” Jack said, looking as though he ran himself, but not out of breath, “Oh hi Bettie, how are you this fine evenin?”
“Very good Jack,” she smiled, looking at him carefully from underneath her long lashes, “Having fun with the baby sitting are we?”
“Don’t be upsettin’ her, like you did last week, you can be just downright cruel, you didn’t did you?” he inquired in a snapping tone.
“No, I didn’t go upsettin’ blondie,” she sneered in mocking, turning her head sharply, and crossing her arms, no doubt wrinkling her blue and white polka dot dress that stretched tautly around her full figure, “Pray go find another side of the yard to spend the rest of your evening, I prefer to be by myself.”
Norma felt herself glaring but wasn’t sure why, “Come on Jack,” she took his arm again, turning him away from the dark beauty.
Once they were out of hearing distance she whispered to Jack, “I don’t like her, she frightens me,” she clung to him now; by his side was warmth, warmth against so much coldness that reverberated around her next to that woman.
“You just don’t like each other, never have, she’s rude, and she ain’t’ no lady, not by a long shot,” he growled, giving her hand an assuring pat.
“What do you mean by ‘don’t upset her’, do I know her?” she asked carefully, absentmindedly trying to fix her windblown hair back into place.
“She’s always had a knack for upsettin’ you, she knows all about you, your history, all the…men…you’ve been acquainted with, she says that’s why you’re here. Because of the men you know, or knew.”
“Men I knew?” her eyes darted in place as she searched her memories, “Yes, men I knew. A man wanted to hurt me, in my apartment, but it wasn’t him that did it. Someone he called to do it.”
“Don’t do that Norma, it ain’t worth it Honey, believe me, you’re a good hearted person, no matter what anyone says here, you’re a lady through and through. You just loved the wrong person, that’s all.”
“Wrong person?”
“Yeah, kind of like Franklin over there, he just loved too many people and it got him in trouble, it wasn’t like he was being vengeful or nothin’, just got caught up with the wrong people,” he was crafting this speech very carefully, which was making her suspicious.
“You know what happened to me, don’t you, and you’re not telling me,” she glared, pushing her hair away from her eyes.
“I’ve told ya before and ya just got upset with me, I don’t wanna be upsettin’ you that’s all.”
She stopped them from walking; planting her feet, “Tell me Mr. Malone…Jack, please.”
“Can’t we just enjoy the rest of the evenin'?” he was pleading with her, and this surprised her, he had hold of both her hands looking deep into her eyes, he stroked one cheek, but not like a beau would, it was simply a gentle gesture of care.
She glanced at the waning sunlight, the sun sinking into the horizon as if the city were a great ocean swallowing it up. A song found her ears, a voice, tinkling like her own, it murmured in the air far away from where she stood, ‘Happy Birthday to you’ it crooned. She rested her fingertips to the revealed bruised flesh; she looked down at the Italian, soft green dress over her body, her eyes wandered back to the tomb where Jack found her on the marble floor.
It had all been too quick for her to remember in full, but everything that night was staged, whether people believed it afterwards she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure if she cared. They had knocked timidly, giving her the impression that she knew them. After all it was ‘their’ knock, one that no one else knew about. One rap, two quick raps, three soft ones. For every evening they spent together that knock was like a song, it was the opening to every happy night of their time together. Wrapping the silk around her hour-glass figure she tiptoed giddily to the door. They rushed at her, pushing her from the door. Swish! Crash! A hand over her mouth, her body pressed to the mattress, one man sat on top of her, she could feel his knees pressed into the bends of her arms so all she was left to be able to do was slap her palms to the silk, it sounded like water, hard, deep, water. She was drowning under the weight of the unknown man; darkness was closing over her senses as her will to fight gave way. And so did her neck.

It was very much like bursting through the surface of a frozen lake, she gasped, so loudly that she felt herself falling back. Jack caught her before she could fall this time, murmuring a soft string of “Shh, shh”
The sobbing from earlier returned and she fell into his arms, burying her face into his crisp, white shirt, “They can’t hurt you now Norma, no one can hurt you,” he patted her back like one would a small, crying child.
“I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe,” she cried, trying to come out of the rising tide as it lapped over her head forcefully.
“Stay with me, feel your feet on the ground, look at me Darlin',” he said more forcefully.
“No, no! Stop, please!” she pushed him, spinning around in her heels, the green lawn blurring like an oil painting with too many colors.
“Norma!” he shouted.
Jack’s voice sounded like an echo down a long, deep cave, he fell farther and farther away from her into the blackness. His touch was no longer felt, coldness swept over her, and the tide took her down into the color of white that blinded her.

She woke up with voices murmuring like spent whispers, lying on brilliantly white marble, and silence. She rolled onto her back, her eyes locking dizzyingly upon the red rose, now with dry spent petals perching above her, as if looking down onto her with pity.
There was dying sunlight finding its way in and through the door of the tomb, “What happened? Who are you?” she asked the looming figure in the walk way.
With somber, dark eyes, he looked upon her with a gentle humor, or sympathy, she wasn’t sure but he reached out a large hand, palm up, “Hi Norma, I’m Jack, let’s take a walk.”