Today's Reading
She opened the door a crack. "Can I help you?"
It was a quiet voice that responded, one accented with a Cajun dialect not unlike her own, "I'm so sorry to bother you, ma'am. I... I had myself a little accident down the road. I was hoping I could use your phone to call a wrecker."
Emily released some of the tension in her shoulders, opened the crack an inch wider, turned back toward the bedroom. "Aubrey! Please come see." She looked the stranger over, a young man, around her grandsons' ages— familiar looking.
Aubrey's hulking presence entered the doorframe. He extended a hand: "Good morning, sir, and what is your name?"
"Hey, Mr. Aubrey, I... I had me a little accident."
Nodding, Aubrey leaned back and put his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, the way he did when he assessed a potential borrower at the bank. "And now who did you say your people were?"
"I'm a Vidrine... you know," gesturing behind him. "I live right down the road."
"Where do you work?"
"I work in Mamou."
"Well... Surely, I must know you then? Come in, come in."
Emily opened the door and stepped backward, inviting him across the threshold. Turning to her desk, she gathered up some phone books, handed one to "Vidrine." Flipping through another, she asked him, "Which wrecker do you want?"
"Pierottis'll do just fine."
Finger on the number, she was reaching for the phone on the wall when Aubrey choked out the words: "Oh, no no no... no."
Emily turned around, and the phone book hit the ground.
The man was holding a knife to Aubrey's chest, pressing a crease into his shirt.
Practically whispering, the stranger spoke, "I don't need the phone. I'm here for money."
Aubrey's eyes, wide, locked on Emily's, which were still glued to the knife. It's small, she couldn't help but notice—nothing more than a pocketknife.
"Look..." she said, emerging from the initial shock. "Sir, we don't have any money here. You know nobody keeps money in their houses any—"
"—I've got a little bit," Aubrey interrupted her, turning toward his captor. "Em, go get my wallet in the bathroom."
Before she could move, the stranger's free hand grasped her arm."Ohhh nononono. How do I know you won't go and get a gun?" Shaking her head, Emily told him there was no gun in the house. He was vibrating with a manic energy, but his eyes were soft—gentle even. "No," he said. "We'll all go."
Her body acted dutifully, leaving her stunned spirit behind, moving into the hall, through the bedroom, one step after the other. The men followed awkwardly, the knife never budging. From the blue tile countertop, beside their toothbrushes, Emily grasped the worn leather wallet. The stranger snatched it from her, looked inside, shook his head. Two hundred dollars.
He pocketed it, then turned back to Emily. "Okay, now this is how this is gonna go." He pointed to her. "I'm gonna tie you to the bed right here."
Something about the way he said it—with reluctance and a certain sense of duty—it alleviated her fear, just a little. 'He only wants the money', she thought. He'll tie us up, and he'll leave. This will all be over soon.
"Well, come on then," he said.
She took a breath and stepped forward to the corner of the bed. The stranger kept Aubrey close, moving the knife away from him and pointing it toward her. "I don't want to hurt her," he said, "but if either of you move an inch..." He produced a coil of rope from under his jacket, grabbed her arms, and drew her clenched fists together.
"Would... would you let me sit down, please?" she asked, gesturing toward her arthritic legs. He paused, looking at the old woman in front of him, grimacing without her teeth in, barefoot in her nightgown. He nodded, stepping aside so she could arrange herself on the bed before starting to wind the rope around her wrists, pressed together, prayer-like, blood pulsing on each side of shaking soft skin. As he tied the knot around the bedpost, she noted to herself that it was a poor one.
The knife returned to Aubrey's chest.
"You aren't going to tie me up too?" he asked.
"Not here," the stranger said. "You and me, we'll go to the front."
...
