The Savage Girl - Alex Shakar [106]
She doesn’t really see much else she can do anyway. Without the help of their mother’s authoritarian presence, she doesn’t have a chance of talking Ivy back into the hospital. She can’t even talk to Ivy on the phone without their conversation’s being webcast far and wide and itself becoming part of the public drama. Ivy never leaves the apartment and very seldom even leaves the field of vision of the cameras in her bedroom and bathroom. Armed guards stand just outside the front door, and food and other supplies, including money—especially money, more and more of it—are delivered. As far as Ivy’s concerned, her bedroom is the center of the universe. And even if Ursula were to resolve to give up on her sister once and for all, to let Chas have his way with her, to let her have her way with herself, where could she go and not have Ivy right there with her, ranting on the nearest computer screen, reminding her of the monstrosity she helped to create?
And then there’s Javier. Her only real chance of seeing him again lies in her staying in Mid City, in case he’s still here or, if not, in case he decides to return. But she’s just about given up hope of either of these possibilities. He sold his apartment. He sent in his resignation. And now he’s gone. Once again he has left his life behind, everyone he’s known and everything he’s built. But this time he’s older, and he’s left more behind than ever before, and she just doesn’t see his finding the strength to start a whole new life all over again.
Somewhere a car alarm begins its unvarying cycle.
The tremulous wave.
The glottal stutter.
The dancing octaves.
The hopeful risers.
She wonders how many people throughout the world at this moment are hearing these same sound patterns, and how much more frustration, anxiety, and wistfulness are born with each new peal. She imagines Javier hearing a car alarm in whatever anonymous hotel room he’s come to occupy. She imagines him sitting on the bed of his hotel room as the inescapable sounds of the car alarm wend through the window and wrap him ever more tightly in their silken shroud. He is paralyzed but still conscious. He will never move again. He knows this and waits to be devoured. All activity is restricted to his sad, panicked eyes and the deepening crease in his brow.
So Javier sits, somewhere. So Ursula sits. So the savage girl sits.
The sun spreads across the jagged rooftops. A bloody, runny egg.
A police car climbs the curb at the West Gate and creeps toward them along the cobbled path. As it nears, Ursula discerns two policemen in the front seat and someone in the back: the strawberry blonde, her face bright as a strawberry now as well, crying. She wipes the tears and snot from her face with a tissue as the car drifts past Ursula and stops just short of the savage girl’s position on the park bench. The two cops get out, hands on their guns. The savage girl stares straight ahead, as though determined to will them out of existence. One of the cops is a woman, short and heavyset, with dark hair protruding from the back and sides of her hat. The male cop says something to the savage girl, who doesn’t respond. But when he takes another step toward her, in one sudden motion she jumps up to a standing position on the bench and brings the hatchet above her head, where she holds it ready. Simultaneously, both cops draw their guns, and from inside the car comes the stifled scream of the strawberry blonde.
Ursula is up and running toward them, not knowing what she’ll do. The male cop looks in her direction, his gun still pointed at the savage girl. His head jerks back and forth between them. He takes a couple of quick steps away from the girl and turns, pointing his gun at Ursula. He is shouting commands at her. His voice is so tight and frayed she thinks his vocal cords might snap.
Ursula stops, raises her hands. Beyond the barrel of the pistol, the cop’s eyes are round and his face is square, his bottom lip pulled tight to reveal his yellowing lower teeth, strangely small for such a large, fleshy head. The cop’s teeth