Free Marcie's Murder by Michael J. McCann

to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. His nostrils expande d at the combination of smells that hung in the air as unpleasant reminders of the poverty in which his sister lived . He picked his way through the stuff on the floor and looked in to the kids’ bedroom. They were gone. Askew assumed they ’ d gotten themselves down to the road in time to be picked up by the school bus. They usually did. He walked into his sister’s bedroom. The morning sunlight was streaming through the gap between the curtains across her body where she lay turned away from him on the mattress on the floor, covered with a gray blanket . He crouched down and touched her shoulder.
    “Pricie.”
    She moaned but didn ’ t awaken .
    “Pricie,” he said again, a little louder.
    She stirred and turned onto her back. There was a n abrasion above her left eyebrow and a black smudge under her left eye. Her shoulder-length brown hair lay flat against her temples and neck. Her eyes fluttered and she looked up at him.
    “Billy?”
    “Wake up, Pricie.”
    She closed her eyes and licked her lips, moving her legs beneath the blanket. “What time is it?”
    H e smell ed stale liquor on her breath . “A little after eight .”
    “In the morning?”
    “Get up, Pricie.”
    “Where’s Jimmy?” Her hand moved automatically to the other side of the mattress.
    “Sleeping it off,” Askew said, “in the jug.”
    Her eyes opened and she sat up. “Oh G od, my head hurts.” She rubbed her forehead. “What happened?”
    “Bluefield picked him up on a DUI last night . He’ll be out this afternoon.”
    “What day is it?”
    “Tuesday.” Askew stood up. “Come on, get up. It’s time to go.”
    She stared at him. “Go?”
    “I told you the next time he hit you I was taking you out of here. Well, now I’m doing it.”
    “Oh, Christ, Billy.” She drew her legs up under the blanket and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the floor beside the mattress. “You ca i n’t just come in here and expect me to pack up and leave.” Her voice was flat, lifeless.
    He watched her take a disposable lighter out of the empty half of the cigarette pack and light a cigarette. She put the lighter back into the pack and tossed it aside. Pricie was forty-seven years old, three years younger than Askew. She had seven children. The oldest, Jimmy Ray, was twenty-six years old. He was divorced, had a police record to match his father’s, and had disappeared from sight four years ago. The next two, Lorna and Ella, had married and moved out of state, hopefully to somewhere better. Johnny, who was twenty - one , had joined the Army and was currently serving in Afghanistan . Eliza, who was nineteen , had Down ’s syndrome and was living in a home in Richmond. Perry and Theresa were sixteen and fourteen , respectively, and were still in school, largely due to Pricie’s insistence that they complete their high school education before getting the hell out.
    “ Sure you can leave, i t’s already done,” he told her. “I’ve rented a place for you in town. It’s furnished. All you need’s your clothes and the kids’ stuff.”
    She picked up a half-full ashtray and balanced it on her knees. “I ca i n’t.”
    “Of course you can. Why couldn’t you?”
    “It’s not right.”
    “We’ve been through this before, Pricie . ” H e fold ed his arms across his chest. “The guy’s no good. You’ve stuck with him for how many years now? And look at you. Every time I come around it’s the same fucking thing . You’ve got no money, you’re living in a dump, he’s never home, you don’t eat properly, he’s going to seriously hurt you some day , and you’ve got no Medicare to pay for a doctor . T hen what?”
    She shook her head slowly, not looking at him, exhaling smoke. “It’s not that bad.”
    “It is and you know it.” He shook his head. “Get up and get dressed. Get the kids ’ stuff and let’s get the hell out of here.”
    “I ca i n’t leave,” Pricie