Out of Order
(2009)
Linda Evans

In order. It had to be done in order!

"Fuck it!" He'd slid the razor blade through her white skin before he'd tied her hands.
 
It had to follow the same sequence to be right - screw her with his hands around her neck, come with her last breath, tie her hands behind her back, carve his initials on her shoulder, pour petrol over and set alight. Job done.

"Damn whore," he said, pissing over her lifeless body. He pushed her panties into his pocket, red for a scarlet woman, and reached for the petrol can.

***

"Have you seen to those horses yet?" Mother's voice sliced through the thick summer heat.

"I'm just feeding the chickens. I was going to…"

"How many times do I have to tell you! Horses first, then chickens, then…"

He slammed the truck door. He'd clean it later down by the stream. The ground levelled under the trees and he could drive it right in.

Mother barked her orders from the shade of the overhang above the kitchen door, stumpy hands nestled on stumpy hips, red-faced from the heat.

"How many times! How many times!"

He looked past her, past the cobbled yard, beyond the farm…or the ramshackled buildings that used to be the farm, to the sun-kissed haze of distorted brush that stretched into forever.

"Just like your father…"

He'd left mother for someone younger, prettier…quieter.

"…and those no-good brothers of yours."

What was there for them to stay around for? Even the dog had gone. He'd have joined them if it hadn't have been for the night he'd met her…the first one…all legs and hair and…

"Are you moving yourself then!"

***

Summer had taken root, shouldering autumn out of the way, eating into September. The land lay parched with plants and trees reduced to brittle sticks, the farm surrounded by endless shades of spent green and brown.

He cocked an ear. Mother had a nasty habit of creeping up on him, spying on him, moments before that booming voice of hers willied him witless. Silence hung with the humidity. He eased a loose panel away from the bedroom wall and pulled out a box wrapped neatly in a faded pillowcase. A shiver of anticipation crawled up the length of his spine as he slid the lid away. Lifting a handful of lace and silk, he inhaled the scent, pictures forming in his mind - the hitchhiker in denim hotpants, the chestnut-haired runaway, the one covered head to foot in freckles - he knew each by their own scent.

A small creak on the bottom step dragged him back. Pulling the red panties from his pocket, he hid them away with the rest.

***

The air never cooled at night. It was the day but in darkness. He'd have preferred to eat later…

"Dinner's at six, always has been, always will be."

…if not waiting for cooler air…

"I'll wash, you dry. Can't get the things clean if you tried…IF you tried. Useless, fucking useless!"

…then to break up the monotony of the long empty evenings.

"Turn the fucking radio on. It's seven already."

The practice.

"Sit."

The life of a country vet.

"Quit fidgeting!"

Every fucking night!

Sewing and mending after for her, jobs for him, then bed at nine-thirty.

Dinner, radio, jobs, bed. Dinner, radio, jobs, bed.

***

He wandered around outside, checked the rust-coloured lock on the stable was fastened, made sure the animals had water, put the truck in the garage, or the shack that passed for it - god only knows why, there was never anyone around for miles.

"Don't go wandering off anywhere," said Mother, like he was still five.
He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out and placed it in his mouth. Inhaling deeply, he tossed the match aside.

Flames came from nowhere, lighting the darkness with yellows and oranges and clouds of thick black smoke that billowed skywards. It spread rapidly, from the garage to the stables, the stables to the barn, the barn to the feedstore, jumping from one building to the next. He watched in silence.

Mother screamed when flames licked at the door of the house and began to devour the peeling white wood.

"Shit!"

The front door gave with a swift kick and he stumbled into the small passageway, smoke swirling around his ankles. He looked towards the screaming, listened to it grate through his ears, grinding into his brain.

He took the stairs two and three at a time. Closing the door did little to hold back the ever-thickening smoke or drown out that voice. Pulling the box quickly from behind the wall panel, he stuffed it into his shirt and crossed to the window.

***

He stared into the rear-view mirror as he drove. The brightness of the sky lit up behind him until home became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

She was blonde and slim…all hair and legs and…

He pulled onto the verge beside her and leant towards the open passenger window.
"Want a lift?"