Blow Fly

57

TURKEY BUZZARDS SWOOP LOW in the blue sky, the smell of death and decay drawing them to the marsh beyond the gray, weathered pier.

"What'd you do, throw meat in the saw grass?" Bev complains to Jay as she loops a rope over a piling. "You know how much I hate those damn buzzards."

Jay smiles, his attention on the lamb cowering in the stern of the boat. She rubs her wrists and ankles, her clothing partially unbuttoned and in disarray. For an instant, relief passes through her terrified eyes, as if the handsome blond man on the dock couldn't possibly be evil. Jay wears nothing but threadbare cutoff jeans, the muscles in his sculpted, tan body popping out with every move he makes. He lightly steps down into the boat.

"Get inside," he orders Bev. "Hi," he says to the woman. "I'm Jay. You can relax now."

Her wide, glassy eyes are riveted to him. She keeps rubbing her wrists and wetting her lips.

"Where am I?" she asks. "I don't understand…"

Jay reaches out to help her up, and her legs won't work, so he grabs her around the waist.

"There we go. A little stiff, are we?" He touches the dried bloody clumps of hair matted to the back of her head and his eyes burn. "She wasn't supposed to hurt you. You're hurt, aren't you? Okay. Hold on. I'm going to pick you up, just like this." He lifts her as if she weighs nothing. "Put your arms around my neck. Good. He places her on the dock and climbs out after her. Helping her to her feet again, he picks her up and carries her inside the shack.

Bev sits on the narrow, sour-smelling bed. It has no covers, just a dingy, rumpled white form-fitted sheet and a stained pillow that has lost its shape and is almost flat. Bev's eyes follow Jay as he lowers the woman to the floor, holding her around the waist while she struggles for balance.

"I can't seem to stand up," she says, avoiding Bev, pretending Bev isn't there. "My feet are numb."

"She tied you too tight, didn't she?" Jay says as his eyes burn brighter. "What'd you do to her?" he asks Bev.

Bev stares at him.

"Get off the bed," he says to her. "We need to let her lie down. She's hurt. Get a wet towel." To the lamb he says as he helps her on the bed, "I don't have any ice. I'm sorry. Ice would be good for your head."

"There's ice in the fish box. And groceries," Bev says in a flat tone.

"You didn't bring me any pups," Jay comments.

"I was busy, and nothing was open."

"Plenty of strays out there, if you aren't too lazy to look for them."

She opens the refrigerator and pours cold water on a dish towel.

"That's all right," the lamb meekly replies, relaxing a little.

Jay is handsome and sweet. He is a friend. Not horrid, like that ugly beast of a woman.

"I'll be fine. I don't need any ice."

"It's not all right." Jay gently arranges the pillow under her head, and she cries out in pain. "No, it's not all right."

He slips a hand under her neck, moving her head so he can feel the back of it. The pressure of his fingers is too much, and the woman cries out again.

"What'd you do to her?" he asks Bev.

"She fell in the boat."

The woman says nothing and refuses to look at Bev.

"Fell with a little help, maybe?" Jay asks in a tone of perfect self-control.

He gathers the lamb's blouse together and buttons it without touching her.