Hurricane

  
It was the following day when Gretchen had come back. She had this look on her face, I can't really explain it. She looked like she had seen a ghost, almost. She looked a bit sick, and I immediately asked her if she were alright.

"Where is Jake?" She asked softly, looking wearily around.

"He's in the basement." I told her.

She took my hand and led me outside, out into the yard, near the tree in the front yard. She held my hands, licking her lips, and sighing very quickly.

"I'm going to need you to be very honest with me, Mandy." She spoke desperate, scared almost.

"What's going on?" I began to worry with her.

She let go of my hands, and dug into her jean pocket, pulling out folded paper. She gave it to me, "Is your name Ladonna Rooney?"

My jaw slacked and I quickly unfolded the papers. They were printed out news articles, with older pictures of us. We hardly looked the same; Mikey had looked so boyish, and I looked so young, and fresh, full of life. 

I had cupped my mouth and looked at her, "Please, Gretchen, don't--"

She stopped me, "I...I have to call the police. I haven't, but it's the right thing to do."

I felt my stomach twist and turn, "No, please. Please." I begged.

"I couldn't be able to live with myself if--"

I stopped her then, "What about my baby? My little girl? I can't go to prison."

Gretchen sighed, "I know...I won't call the police..." she looked reluctant and I couldn't be sure if I could trust her.

"Let me have my baby first," I coaxed her like Mikey had taught me, "I'll give her to my mother, and then you can call the police."

She watched my eyes, looking for fault, "O...okay. Alright. For your baby."

"Thank you." I smiled meekly, "I won't tell him. I thought that it was time." I lied. I lied like a pro.

"Take care of yourself." She told me.

I watched her walk down the road before I jetted into the house. I ran through the house, "Mikey! Mikey!" I waddled towards the basement stairs.

"What?!" He spat back up at me.

"Come here!"

He gave a groan, then walked to the end of the stairs, "This better be fucking good."

"Gretchen knows, she going to call the cops, we have to leave!" I stammered quickly.

Mikey shut his eyes, frustratedly, and turned. He stood for a moment, then came up the stairs, "What the fuck did you do?"

"I didn't do anything! She just found out." I told him, then I shoved the folded papers at him.

He grabbed them, looking at them quickly. He growled, then shoved them into his pocket; "What'd she say?"

"She said she'd wait until after the baby was born to call the police."

He ran a hand through his hair; it was long, the color was fading, "Fuck. Fuck. How long is that? How long until you have it?"

"Few weeks." I told him.

"We gotta go. We have to leave now, get new fucking names." He walked away from me, "Don't fuck up anymore! Start packing."


Mikey and I prepared to leave that night. I had gone to sleep in our bedroom, while Mikey roamed about. He wasn't speaking to me, even though I had apologized to him. He just waved me away, smoking his cigarette; I went to bed with a heavy heart. I woke up with a thrust.

He had pulled me out of bed, holding me up by my wrist, violently waking me from my slumber. I cried out, my feet scraped the hardwood flooring, and I almost fell. Mikey then held me under my arms; "Follow me." He uttered menicously.

"Where? Are we leaving now?" He shook his head.

"No. I have a surprise for you." His tone was flat.

He put me down on my feet and took my arm. He led me outside, the air was cool, my feet were cold, he led me down the road. We were heading to Gretchen's home...I could only think the worse.

Of course, it was the worse.

As soon as we stepped into the house, I could smell gasoline. My stomach had filled with dread as he pushed me towards the living room and down to the kitchen. Again, it was like déjà vu; he had Rich and Gretchen tied up in chairs.

My memory is still fuzzy...I don't remember looking at them.

"Like old times, huh?" Mikey laughed, "Almost like déjà vu."

I turned to him, "No, no, please." I stammered, "Not them, Mikey! They're nothing but nice to us!"

Mikey gave me a vacant look, "And?"

"Don't hurt them!"

He chuckled manically, "I'm not going to do anything. You are, there's going to be blood on your hands too."

My eyes had grown wide, "I'm not going to hurt them." I stood in front of them, protecting them almost.

"Don't be a fucking idiot."

"I'm not! I can't hurt anyone!"

He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me away. He took his gun and shot Rich first, right in the head. Then Gretchen, in her stomach, then somewhere in her chest. I had to look on in horror, hearing there muffled whimpers and cries. Mikey grabbed my shoulders; "Was that so hard?"

I stared at him, trembling "You're crazy."

He glared at me, the evil in his pupils growing, "You're scared."

I nodded, dumbly, awaiting for him to do something. He pushed me towards the living room, and then followed behind me. He grabbed me again, out the door we went, and then, he grabbed a lighter.

I remember the porch igniting in flames, and then we were in a new car. I had cried, and Mikey had told me to shut up.

"You act like you've never seen a dead body before!" He screamed at me.

"How could you?" I whimpered over and over again.

"Shut up, Rooney."

I had continued to cry, no matter how many times he told to shut up. I only stopped when we got to a hotel and he grabbed my face again. He stared into my eyes, the crazy, fueled frenzy had died down; "I'm going to need you to shut up." His voice was sweeter, "Can you do that?"

I nodded, my body shook slightly. I sniffed, wiping my eyes when he let me go. He got out of the car and walked into the lobby; a minute later, he returned with a keycard, and told me to get out.


We were on the news, and Gretchen had survived the fire. They knew our new identities, and that I was pregnant. I felt sick to my stomach, Mikey became paranoid and paced around.

"I thought I fucking killed her!" He muttered to himself.

I sat away from him, trying to rid my body of the sick feeling. He sat by my feet, running his hands through his hair; "I don't blame you." He muttered again.

I furrowed my brows, "Blame me? You tried to kill her! Did you think, if she survived, she wouldn't tell?!" I had finally snapped, "And, of you intended to kill her, why didn't you just shoot her in the head?"

He glared at me, "Excuse me, I fucking told you to do it!"

"I'm not the monster!" I had reached my boiling point.

Mikey stood up, he looked at me as if I had hit him in the mouth. He turned and then he walked out the door. I didn't know if he was leaving me or not; I hadn't cared.