The Accidental Siren

4.6 Camera Tests

My anger reached its peak and my veins were primed with adrenaline--

“What the hells goin' on up here?” The man was skinnier than a sapling with a pickaxe in one hand and sweat-rag in the other.

Trent hid the sword behind his back and A.J. slipped behind a tree.

Danny released Mara to the ground and said, “None of your beeswax, Hank.”

The man took ten strides with legs like a spider. He clenched the back of Danny's neck and held the boy's face to his. “You know that man's payin' me a hundred bucks to help dig his trench? I brought you here to help, boy, not to play with yer friends. And you call me Uncle Hank, you hear me?” He let go of Danny's neck and smacked the back of his head.

Then he noticed Mara. He wiped his forearm across his lips and stepped forward. “Did you hurt dem kids, Danny?”

“No, sir,” Danny replied.

Hank's eyes were hooked on the girl. “Age,” he said, “yer dad's lookin' for ya.” He glanced at T. “Whoever the hell you are, go home an' leave dem kids alone.” He smacked Danny again. “And you... get yer mangled head back down that hill and help pull some weeds.”

Danny looked at me. His final glance said what his lips couldn't: we'll finish this later.

T whacked a branch with his sword and plodded away. A.J. and Danny crossed the patch of grass, then disappeared into the brush from whence they came.

Hank nodded to Mara, tipped the rim of an invisible hat, lingered for a moment too long... then followed the boys into the forest.

I clutched the tree to pull myself up, then limped to Mara. I sat beside her and held my stomach. I hoped she would crawl to my lap--I could comfort her there--but she remained in the dirt and rolled to face me.

“You okay?” she asked. Her cheek still held the imprint of jagged bark.

“Got the wind knocked outta me. Otherwise, I'm fine. How about you?”

“Feel a little sick, but no scratches.”

“What did A.J. whisper to you?” I asked. “Unless you don’t wanna tell me...”

“He found the tape of me singing... the one I played to keep Aunty asleep.”

That scrawny little hillbilly had a recording of Mara’s voice! I was jealous--furious--but I also felt sad for her... and that was the side that Mara needed to see. “I’m sorry those jerks stole your stuff. If I could get it back--”

“Not jerks. They’re assholes.”

I smiled at the dirty word. Mara smiled back.

Inside, I was terrified. Danny and the boys wouldn't stay away for long. Today it was threats and hateful words; tonight, Mara would visit them in their dreams. Tomorrow, the lust would blossom into plans and strategies. Eventually, they'd come back for more.

“Guess what,” she said.

“What?”

“My washcloth was purple... Ms. Grisham used green.”

We laughed. I picked a leaf from her hair.

“Mara?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“I won't ever make you sing.”

The girl didn't respond, but closed her eyes and wound my shoelace around her finger.

*  *  *

Midnight.

The scream belonged to Mara. It's terrifying vibrato echoed through my subconscious and strangled my dream until I woke up thrashing. I sat up in bed, froze in absolute silence, and wondered if I had imagined the cry.

Then it happened again--the word “fuck” in Mara's precious voice--splitting the stillness with such ferocity that it rattled my windows and sang for days in the back of my mind.