Is your brother home?

“Is your brother home?”

A stranger in a cheap outfit. She was deceptively plain-faced, with a rounded nose and freckles like mud-stains in linen. One eyelid stuck to the top, revealing the full circle of the iris, a divot running through the leftmost point in her brow. A sign of healing Melody guessed to have been from a brawl. By her reckoning, they ought to have been around the same age. So, it would have been a boyfriend’d done her in, family, some such.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The door didn’t budge an inch.

It was a dry day. Hot. The chickens clucked and flapped outside, rattling the wire fence.

“Ma- May I come in?” Stuttered the stranger. There was a duffel bag in her right hand, the red-cross hung on a tag around the handle. Her eyes fixed somewhere over Melody’s head. Before she could come forward, Melody pulled the door closer. The latch chain shook.

“You a nurse?”

Before the stranger could reply, Melody stumbled at a shift in weight when Momma pushed past her to open the door. She already had the airs on, sweet-voiced and charitable, singing “You must be the woman from the sisterhood. Come in, hon.”

The stranger dipped her head politely, drifting by while Momma stood between Melody and the wall she’d backed her into. The women made their way into the living room. Inside, the mother shot a hard look at her daughter.

Go.

Upstairs, Melody bent double over the crack in the corridor floor where she could see right through to their conversation. Dust browned her clammy palms. The intruder was young, meek, and delicate. If she was from the sisterhood she’d have a good chase of already being right with God. No such young lady had ever made it into the family home. It was a spectacle to be witnessed and, hopefully, absorbed for translation into a language Melody could use to better her own standing within the home. Their voices were hushed. A kind of quiet insofar she’d known to be reserved for after church and funerals. Something the girl said made Momma laugh, but it wasn’t from the same trick reserve as her welcome voice. This was honest. A blood-edged sneer used at the TV when there was a lady doing the news, or when she’d caught her daughter trying out mascara Ezekiel had brought home from one of the sluts at Randal’s.

The scene below was mostly static, save for an instance where the stranger flashed Momma a look into the bag. By now they had turned their tones from lulled to truly low and Momma’s voice was wholly recognisable again. Melody bent further in and set a floorboard creaking, both pairs of eyes snapped up to face her, focus ringing, she recoiled. After the panic had subsided she dared to bend again, checking back in. Only Momma on the easy chair, handling the remote. Same as always.

Soft footsteps echoed from the stairwell. A white hand materialised over the end of the bannister and the rest of the stranger was soon to follow. Yellow sunlight from the hallway window fell on her just so, and her face seemed ghoulish in its shock, fading to a smile when she had taken notice of Melody’s silhouette. For a second, neither of them moved. Like a couple of cats. Melody refused to flinch first. The woman raised a hand.

“Hi,” said she, restored to an innocent tone, “I think I’m here to see y-your brother. Know where he is?”

“Through there,” Melody noticed for the first time a tremor in the young woman’s hand. “You better follow me.”

The drapes were still closed in Melody’s bedroom. Cracks of daylight broke through and gave life to dust scattered, swimming through the air. Not in its history had there ever been someone in this room who was not kin to the family, and Melody felt sure the stranger understood that honour by the way her unruly hand ran the length of the bag’s handles again and again. She closed the door behind them and stayed at it, waiting for the woman to take her seat on the bed. There was enough light still to see how alike the strange girl was to the dolls here. Round face, pale, dry hair, one always-open eye. She was even wearing a job-costume; no real nurse would have a clip-in headband or pink ribbons around the cuffs.

“You collect anything?” Melody asked. The nurse was sure to collect precious moments. She hoped so. If she did she’d show her which ones she’d got for Christmas.

“Is he h-h-hiding?”

“Oh, on a day like this he might be back any minute.”

“Oh,” the bag dropped from her shoulder, the trembling hand held still by the other in her lap. Again, they were silent, and steadily the room became brittler. Nurse was fixed on her own reflection in the three mirrors hung against the corner opposite, shelves of clutter over her head, nightgowns all about the floor. Melody wished someone would have told her that another girl would be coming to the house, she would have tidied. The subtle realisation crept in that if she didn’t find a way to produce Ezekiel soon, Momma would find out he wasn’t here, and this woman would have to leave. If she left, she’d leave with news for the sisterhood that Melody’s house was dirty, that she was a liar, and Momma would know exactly who kept the visitor from their business with her son. All the reason she had for stopping that work was wanting to be a part of it.

Nurse didn’t seem to notice when a doll hissed down from the dresser, a tiny hand cupped to her mouth: “Hey, sleepyhead! Listen up!”

The doll spoke from the obscurity of grease on the lens of Melody’s glasses, “you holdin’ hostages now? Think! She’s here to do a job, the ladylike thing to do would be to lead her to it, agreed?”

But she would have to leave…

Already, the dolls cast their cold glare. They knew that she had been reminded by her mother that the dolls were always good girls, even when Melody wasn’t. Every time the child sinned, say; wouldn’t share, pick at herself or gaze at her reflection, the dolls told Momma all about it, and the sinning broke her heart. It made her crazy. The doll’s message only became more and more important for a woman growing up.

Melody nodded, colours shifting through the smear as she refocused on the guest. Nurse jolted at the sudden movement.

“Oh Lord, I’m sorry, did I startle you?” Melody asked.

“A-ah,” Nurse started, “It’s a-a-a-.”

The words left, her frustration plain as day while she tried to catch them, “-alright. Fuck!”

Melody quickly checked the doll, praying to God she wouldn’t tell Momma she made her guest mad.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Thanks. Gets w-worse when I’m tired.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, creasing the bags under her eyes.

Without thinking, Melody went to place a soothing hand on the girl’s arm, and held back when the muscle tensed. She was about to retract, but Nurse was looking into her face for the first time, head cocked with that slight apologetic smile. With her hand finally set, both their flesh relaxed, Nurse’s shoulders fell and the two of them allowed a moment for their tension to quieten. But still, the question remained.

“Tell ya the truth, I didn’t know Ezekiel was sick. Is it serious?” The daughter was completely earnest about that.

“Sick..? Oh, right,” she looked at the ground again.

“Ain’t you a nurse? You new or somethin’?” She was used to people thinking she didn’t know, it was up for her guest to interpret.

For some time, the girl searched the ground, like a satisfying answer would come from the cover of a discarded book. When she spoke, she didn’t look up.

“Your Mom didn’t t-t-tell you, I take it.”

Melody shook her head, no.

“Well, I’m a um. A hooker, I guess.”

“Hooker. Is that so?” That wasn’t right. It was a test. Momma already said she was from the sisterhood. Hookers were supposed to be old. A look of hesitation passed Nurse over since no response had come.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Melody said, sizing the woman up a second time over, she wasn’t a hooker, not in the movie sense. “It’s a job, ain’t it?”

A doll on the peeling windowsill pushed and pushed her hands against the piggy bank. Correct, someone would need to pay a hooker, and there was simply no money in this house. Momma had already lied to her. Whatever she was, test or no test, Nurse ought to know that she should back out right now, forget she ever met this family and move herself along before things got seriously ugly.

The slam of the shed door outside surprised them both. Melody craned her neck toward the window, where her brother’s telltale force still rattled the wood on its hinges.

She beamed at her wide-eyed friend, “Told ya!”

In reluctant conspiracy, Melody led Nurse out of the room and down the hallway, taking great pains to point out any creaky floorboards before another accident. She taught her how to use the stairs correctly, sidling down with her feet lightly touching where the wood connected to the wall, almost knocking one of the baby photos down. Melody was already in the kitchen doorway, using frantic, diminished gestures to urge her companion ahead. Murmurs from the television echoed through a gap in the living room door. Once safely outside, Nurse went ahead while Melody softened the back door’s closure. The final destination was not too far away.

Ezekiel’s workshed loomed beneath an arch of untamed branches. Melody remembered once having played and fallen asleep in the shade of the leaves, but bringing Nurse gave birth to a new context, forcing her to review the scene. The tree hadn’t really had leaves in the past few years, most likely it was dead that whole time.

Already, a low buzz emanated from the old, chipped-up door. If the VCR was working, her brother would already be embroiled in his business. Melody turned to Nurse and signalled for her to be quiet again. She pushed the door, expecting resistance, but the thing creaked open, revealing him. His back faced the door as he hunched over the workbench. His bare arms held strong positions, moving ever so slightly in support of his gloved hands, methodically weaving in, out, in, out, the needle he was sewing with rhythmically coming in view beneath the crap-streaked lamp above Daddy’s old taxidermy station. Without looking behind him, Ezekiel called to her.

“If yer gonna be in here you better be quiet.” Flat as usual. She didn’t mind. It was always easy to tell how he felt.

“Ain’t like that, Ezekiel. I brought someone.”

He paused, lowered his arm and straightened his back. The smell of mildew hung like a banner, the old TV rig sang an ever-evolving song of chainsaw violence, an oscillating display cycling through sequences of a shining young hero and his horde of enemy ghouls. The growl of the in-scene engine provided a poor soundtrack to the meeting of Ezekiel and Nurse’s eyes. She stood, silhouetted in the doorway, greyed in the contrasting of light.

Melody took her friend by the hand and introduced her to a sunken mat beneath the TV, sitting beside her on two worn-out couch cushions there. At this proximity she could feel the tremor travel from Nurse’s hand up through her whole arm and instinctually placed her own hand over it. It struggled against her, eventually fading in intensity like a fish dragged up to the surface.

Ezekiel downed his materials with a clunk, sighed, and shambled past the station to crouch beside the women. His hands hung over his knees, then he raised one towards the stranger, already exhausted.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know.” Melody increased the heaviness of her grip on Nurse’s hand. Brother gave a hard eyed look at sister, presuming disobedience. He shifted focus to Nurse.

“Who are ya?” he drawled.

Gawking Nurse struggled against her words. Ezekiel looked to his sister to explain again, dismayed when she shook her head in response. On the screen, a bloodied woman crawled through vines on the forest floor. The film cut between her moments of struggle and a torn-faced pursuer, equally drenched in cherry-red blood syrup. The three of them shared the silence, relying on the movie to fill the attention of the other parties so that each player could search inside for the right thing to do.

The mood in the room was that the visitor had been brought to them against her will, against the will of the family, and no-one knew why. At least, no-one in the workshed. Back on screen, the victim starlet closed her eyes against the pain, with an echoing dialogue clip from the hero’s mantra: The show must go on-on-on-on.

Ezekiel took notice of the bag slung over Nurse’s shoulder and tapped at it, causing her to clutch it tighter. Melody felt the girl's hand jump, threatening to pull back entirely.

“You’re fuckin’ scarin’ the shit out of her!” Melody hissed.

His hawk face puckered, he spat, “Mel, she’s scarin’ the shit outta me!”

A chord of tension snapped from one sibling to another, and the nurse held her head still, closed her eyes as best she could manage and took a long breath in. On release, she gently removed her still shaking hand from Melody’s grip and opened the bag.

Inside, rubber penises writhed and collided like a tin of live bait. There were other things too, a chain of orange balls, a short crop and a little zip-up medical case the size and shape of a book. Brother glowered at sister, sister glowered at brother, who had tried to warn him not to pry. He addressed the Nurse again, “what’s in the case?”

And again, without resistance, she took up the case and opened it. The set folded outward like a greetings card. On one side, a line of syringes, banded to the case with elastic. On the alternate were medicine vials. Two filled with powder, two with clear liquid.

“T-theres a lighter in the bag.”

Ezekiel was silent. Melody looked from one face to another.

“Your mom told me to c-c-come.”

He remained silent for several seconds, his expression changing from that of shock, to resignation, to anger. The walls of the shed threatened to close in around the three of them. Melody didn’t know what was going on, but she knew she had done something wrong. Nurse had backed away from Ezekiel and Melody felt the rubbery near-weightlessness of her shivering body full against her chest. She was paralysed.

“I don’t know you, m-man. I don’t kn-know you.”

He loomed over the two of them, glaring, grabbing the bag to rifle through it another time over. Melody felt a minute spasm in Nurse’s legs, a brace to run, but it had been stopped as soon as it had started. The duffle bag dropped to the women’s feet, medicine case sealed back inside.

“Out.” Choked Ezekiel. He raised his voice, “Both of you, get the hell outta here.”