Sleep Before Waking

The Yellow House with Green Shutters
by Caitlin Carrigan

The cruiser pulled up along the driveway of the yellow house with green shutters. The flash and flicker of blue to red brought every neighbor to their window or driveway to have a peek at the drama unfolding outside. Terry sat smoking a cigarette on her front porch, imagining the envy of the domestics that peered out their doors from all around. Terry knew what had happened. Terry lived next door.

“Theresa. Theresa, is that you?” Mrs. Dagwood whispered as she crossed the lawn toward the screened in porch. Terry rolled her eyes at the woman’s audacity.
“Yeah, in the flesh,” Terry said, taking a short break from trying to swallow her own tongue.
“What’s going on?” Mrs. Dagwood asked.
“A whole shit load of none of your business, I’m pretty sure.”
“Don’t hold out on me, Terry. What happened? Do you know?”
“What, because I live next door, I must not only know the plot behind this drama, but I must divulge said info when every Tom, Dick and…” Terry asked through the dingy screen as a foreboding black van rolled up to the yellow house. Mrs. Dagwood hadn’t noticed the pause in Terry’s badgering, having been just as transfixed on the oncoming van.
“Oh my lord, Terry. This is serious,” Mrs. Dagwood said, and Terry could swear she saw glee on the middle aged woman’s face. Mrs. Dagwood was now leeching off Terry’s prime view.
“I know, I’m the one who called the cops,” Terry said.
“Is your mother home? Did she see anything?” Mrs. Dagwood asked.
“No, she isn’t home.”

Terry’s mother had insisted on introducing herself and her daughter to the Dagwoods, not to mention the Connells, the Peterson-Hadreys, and despite Terry’s sincerest hopes, they’d all managed to remember her name. Terry knew the surest way to be noticed in the neighborhood was by talking to people which she avoided at all costs. The second best way, was to live in the house next to the Flannerys.
“Well, then I guess it is up to you to tell me what happened,” Mrs. Dag wood said as she bounded up the front steps and through the screen door.

“You really want to know, huh? It’ll make talking to Mrs. Connell over the garden fence most interesting in the morning,” Terry muttered.
“You know it will, Terry. Now quit being a wise ass and spill it,” Mrs. Dagwood said.
Terry tapped the pack of Marlboros and pulled out another cigarette. She thought a moment whether the smoke might bother Mrs. Dagwood, then quickly realized she didn’t care.
“Fine. As long as you get lost immediately afterward,” Terry said.

The dark van’s doors opened and two men in black jackets hopped out with buckets and cases. The two of them watched before continuing their gossip.

“You have my word,” Mrs. Dagwood assured her as she waved away the tendrils of smoke.
“Alright,” Terry said, pausing for a drag and dramatic affect. “The fight broke out around dinner time. David started yelling about something that may or may not have been money related. I couldn’t tell for sure. It was still quiet then.”
“David is the father, right?” Mrs. Dagwood asked.
“Yes, David is the father. Tommy is the toddler, Haley is the mother, and the baby’s name is Finn,” Terry said, realizing as she spoke that she was far too involved in the lives of people she cared nothing about. She went on. “David started swearing, got a little violent, and started throwing shit. Glasses, plates, what have you.”
“My god. Treating your wife like that with children in the house,” Mrs. Dagwood said.
“Not just in the house, Tommy was in the room. He was screaming,” Terry said, and despite her best hopes for the contrary, she began to get excited.
“Unbelievable…” Mrs. Dagwood said. She seemed to hang onto Terry’s every word, a fact Terry was enjoying, though she’d never admit to it.
“Anyway, Haley told him he needed to leave, but by then, the noise had woken up Finn. So, she’s trying to keep Tommy calm while tending to a screaming infant…”
“You know quite a bit. Remind me not to have it out with Paul while you’re in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Dagwood said.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No! Jesus, Terry. I am kidding. You’re a godsend,” Mrs. Dagwood said.

“Ok, then shut up for a minute while I tell the story,” Terry said, pounding out the dying cigarette that had burned down in her fingers. “So, the fight traveled through the house and I couldn’t hear anything for a while. When they came back into the kitchen I could see Haley had Finn in her arms, and Tommy was attached to her hip. And you’d think that a father would back off from the mother of his children when she has them clinging to her, terrified. But no. He hauled off and decked her, right in the face.”
The number of law enforcers rose in the yard next door as the men in black jackets retrieved a gurney from their van.
“You’re not serious,” Mrs. Dagwood said. She quickly apologized as Terry stared at her in the light from the nearby street lamp.
“Yeah. I’m serious,” Terry said, thinking about another cigarette, but knowing she wouldn’t get an opportunity to enjoy. Chances were that they’d be coming soon. “She started screaming for help and from here I saw him walk over to the kitchen sink and start kicking her on the floor.”
“Those poor boys,” Mrs. Dagwood said. Terry pointed to the kitchen window in the yellow house, through which the police could be seen milling around. “Tell me they’re all right.”

Terry waited a moment to decide how she would tell the next part of the story. Mrs. Dagwood was obviously distraught and as the men in black jackets emerged from the yellow house pushing the gurney, she gasped. Atop the gurney was a long shape encased in shiny black material.

“Who is that?” Mrs. Dagwood asked. Her voice cracked and her eyes were gleaming in the dim light. “Are you telling me she’s dead? He beat her to death? Thank god you called for help. Tell me the boys are all right. Please, sweet Jesus.”
“I can’t say the boys are fine,” Terry said. She gave in to the urge and lit another cigarette. She allowed herself a drag.
“Oh my lord. How could this happen in our neighborhood? Some lunatic kills his wife and children and now the whole neighborhood gets to watch the poor woman be carted away,” Mrs. Dagwood was in a fit. She crossed herself and turned away from the sight of the men in black jackets as they hauled the gurney up into the van.
“That’s not Haley,” Terry said.
“What? Then who is it?” Mrs. Dagwood asked.
“That’s David.”

Terry took another long drag on her cigarette, the end of her story having been reached.

“How…that’s David? Terry, don’t keep it from me, what happened?” Mrs. Dagwood asked. Her face looked frantic, her praying hands grabbed Terry’s wrists and she shook her, causing Terry to lose yet another perfectly good cigarette.
“I stabbed him,” Terry said.
Mrs. Dagwood let go. Mrs. Dagwood stared at Terry, obviously disturbed. Terry watched the uniformed men filtering out of the yellow house as the black van drove away. The main door to Terry’s house suddenly burst open and a short figure appeared on the porch.

“Tommy, sweetheart. Don’t go outside,” a voice called from inside Terry’s kitchen.
“You…you did…” Mrs. Dagwood pulled away from Terry as Tommy turned to face the two of them. His face was tear streaked, but smiling.
“Go back inside, kiddo. Go play with the puppy dog,” Terry said and the small boy did as he was told, disappearing back into the house.
“You stabbed David?” Mrs. Dagwood asked, regaining her composure.
“Does that surprise you?” Terry asked. She lit up again and pulled long and hard on the burning cigarette, ash crumbling and falling onto her stained, trembling fingers. She flicked the cherry with her middle finger and the embers went dark. “Somebody had to. If you lived next door you’d have stabbed him, too.”

Mrs. Dagwood’s jaw dropped and remained low as Haley and a pair of police officers appeared from the kitchen.
“All right, Terry. We’re going to need you to come with us. Just a formality. Is your mom on the way?” Officer Brunell asked.
“Yeah, she’ll meet us there.” Terry rose to her feet and followed the crowd out to the cruisers. She hopped into the back of the cop car, wondering how long it would take Mrs. Dagwood to realize she should get the hell off of Terry’s porch. As the car rolled away, she decided she didn’t care.