| General Fiction posted November 1, 2022 | Chapters: |
...21 22 -23- 24... 
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Two guys, two cars, one body
A chapter in the book The Miranda Chronicles
Double Trouble (Miranda)
by GWHARGIS
***So far, Miranda Buckley, has been jilted, fired and left to take care of a child that belongs to her ex-lover. Now, she is at Haynes Pond watching as her neighbor and her ex's son dive for bootleg liquor at the bottom of the pond. She's worried about what they will find but soon discovers something horrible on shore. ***
Aaron and Waylon high five each other and return to the water. As awkward as the flippers are, they both seem to have gotten the hang of walking in them. I shake my head and walk back over to the washer.
"Well, Mr. Maytag washing machine, I sure hope you don't mind me popping a squat on you," I say as I hop up on the duct taped lid.
I should have brought a book or something because this is boring. I don't own a cell phone so I don't have entertainment at my fingertips. What? No cell phone? Yep. I know. I'm a relic. But I've seen how distracted people get when they have one. Nobody just talks anymore.
I swat at a fly then another lands on me. I hate bugs. They are disgusting and spread all kinds of germs. So, now all I can hear is that buzzing in my ear. I swat like a maniac but the dumb things keep landing on me.
The breeze picks up and it is my hope that they will leave me alone. But with that hopeful breeze comes an odor. Not terrible but not good. Its like when a mouse crawls into your duct work and gets trapped.
Maybe it's just the mud from the pond, but I'm pretty sure I would have smelled it on the other side. I only noticed it now when the breeze picked up. I sniff with a little more gusto as I try to define what it is that I'm smelling.
Swiveling my butt on the washer, I look at the area behind me. The office chair, laying on its side with the guts of its padded seat spilling out, and the abandoned couch are there. There's other random trash mixed in with the mud and weeds, but I seriously doubt any of that could create whatever it is that I'm smelling now.
But what I can see is a gathering of flies, all buzzing around the couch. There is something either in, under or behind that piece of furniture.
I hop down and carefully make my way over there. I see deep holes in the mud. Like the kind of holes where the mud sucks the shoes right off your feet.
The smell is more distinct now. Like old raw hamburger that has set out too long in the sun.
"Just turn around, Randa. You're probably gonna find a dead little deer or a bag of kittens that some heartless bastard drowned."
And, even though my mind is making valid points, I'm just too damn nosy to stop moving forward.
From where I am at this point, I don't see anything behind the couch or on it. Which means the smell is coming from underneath. I look down, watching flies en mass coming in and out from under it.
"Don't flip it over," my mind, once again, tries to appeal to my good senses. "Go back to the washer and wait for the lovable idiots. If you flip this over, why there could be a nest of moccasins. "
My hand hovers on the filthy matted material, my morbid curiosity commanding my limbs to uncover whatever it is.
"One, two, three." And with that I pull the couch over jumping back as a thick black haze of flies explodes into the air.
When I finally open my eyes, certain that the assault of flying pests is over, I want to scream.
But there is no sound coming from me.
I stumble, my hands coming up to my mouth and nose.
There under the couch is a dead man. Gray skin, almost the color of putty, eyes wide open but a whiteish covering is over them. His mouth is open, flies go in and out freely.
Aaron and Waylon are calling from the pond. "Miranda! There's a body in the other car."
I slowly turn around. I can't find my voice. If I breathe, I'll breathe in his decay. All I can do is to make a fist and wrap my other hand around my wrist.
"Shit, Waylon, she needs help," Aaron says. "We're coming. Hang on."
I feel the flies buzzing by me, snagging in my hair. This can't be real. Wake up dammit.
"What's wrong? You see a snake?" Aaron says. He pops his feet out of the flippers. "I don't see anything."
"He's over there," I say, my voice sounds foreign and afraid.
"Ugh," he gags, quickly pulling his wet shirt over his nose. "Who ... who is that?"
I look back towards the body. "It's Ed Preston."
Waylon tries to skirt past me, eager to see something no one should see.
"No. Do not go over there. I know you think you want to see him, but you don't."
He doesn't try again. "Are you okay, Miranda? You need to sit down?"
"We gotta call the police, go grab my phone from the truck," Aaron says.
"He was in my store, Aaron. Three days ago. I threw him out."
"Miranda, listen to me. When the cops get here, please don't tell them about the cars down there. I need to see this through. Will you do that for me?"
I couldn't care less about those old cars on the bottom of the pond. I want to know how Ed Preston wound up under a filthy couch at Haynes Pond. And who it was that put him there.
Waylon comes back with the phone and a bottle of water. "Here. Thought you might need this." He uncaps it for me and puts it in my hand. "Are you gonna puke?"
As soon as he says it, the biscuit makes a beeline for the top of my throat. I drop to my knees and let it go.
"Waylon, help her back to the truck. Turn it on and get the a/c going."
"You coming?" Waylon asks.
"In a minute," Aaron says softly.
I lean back on the headrest when we get in the truck. The air blows cool against my clammy skin.
As much as I disliked Ed Preston, he was a person. No one deserves to be dumped like trash. Nobody.
To be continued ...
***So far, Miranda Buckley, has been jilted, fired and left to take care of a child that belongs to her ex-lover. Now, she is at Haynes Pond watching as her neighbor and her ex's son dive for bootleg liquor at the bottom of the pond. She's worried about what they will find but soon discovers something horrible on shore. ***
Aaron and Waylon high five each other and return to the water. As awkward as the flippers are, they both seem to have gotten the hang of walking in them. I shake my head and walk back over to the washer.
"Well, Mr. Maytag washing machine, I sure hope you don't mind me popping a squat on you," I say as I hop up on the duct taped lid.
I should have brought a book or something because this is boring. I don't own a cell phone so I don't have entertainment at my fingertips. What? No cell phone? Yep. I know. I'm a relic. But I've seen how distracted people get when they have one. Nobody just talks anymore.
I swat at a fly then another lands on me. I hate bugs. They are disgusting and spread all kinds of germs. So, now all I can hear is that buzzing in my ear. I swat like a maniac but the dumb things keep landing on me.
The breeze picks up and it is my hope that they will leave me alone. But with that hopeful breeze comes an odor. Not terrible but not good. Its like when a mouse crawls into your duct work and gets trapped.
Maybe it's just the mud from the pond, but I'm pretty sure I would have smelled it on the other side. I only noticed it now when the breeze picked up. I sniff with a little more gusto as I try to define what it is that I'm smelling.
Swiveling my butt on the washer, I look at the area behind me. The office chair, laying on its side with the guts of its padded seat spilling out, and the abandoned couch are there. There's other random trash mixed in with the mud and weeds, but I seriously doubt any of that could create whatever it is that I'm smelling now.
But what I can see is a gathering of flies, all buzzing around the couch. There is something either in, under or behind that piece of furniture.
I hop down and carefully make my way over there. I see deep holes in the mud. Like the kind of holes where the mud sucks the shoes right off your feet.
The smell is more distinct now. Like old raw hamburger that has set out too long in the sun.
"Just turn around, Randa. You're probably gonna find a dead little deer or a bag of kittens that some heartless bastard drowned."
And, even though my mind is making valid points, I'm just too damn nosy to stop moving forward.
From where I am at this point, I don't see anything behind the couch or on it. Which means the smell is coming from underneath. I look down, watching flies en mass coming in and out from under it.
"Don't flip it over," my mind, once again, tries to appeal to my good senses. "Go back to the washer and wait for the lovable idiots. If you flip this over, why there could be a nest of moccasins. "
My hand hovers on the filthy matted material, my morbid curiosity commanding my limbs to uncover whatever it is.
"One, two, three." And with that I pull the couch over jumping back as a thick black haze of flies explodes into the air.
When I finally open my eyes, certain that the assault of flying pests is over, I want to scream.
But there is no sound coming from me.
I stumble, my hands coming up to my mouth and nose.
There under the couch is a dead man. Gray skin, almost the color of putty, eyes wide open but a whiteish covering is over them. His mouth is open, flies go in and out freely.
Aaron and Waylon are calling from the pond. "Miranda! There's a body in the other car."
I slowly turn around. I can't find my voice. If I breathe, I'll breathe in his decay. All I can do is to make a fist and wrap my other hand around my wrist.
"Shit, Waylon, she needs help," Aaron says. "We're coming. Hang on."
I feel the flies buzzing by me, snagging in my hair. This can't be real. Wake up dammit.
"What's wrong? You see a snake?" Aaron says. He pops his feet out of the flippers. "I don't see anything."
"He's over there," I say, my voice sounds foreign and afraid.
"Ugh," he gags, quickly pulling his wet shirt over his nose. "Who ... who is that?"
I look back towards the body. "It's Ed Preston."
Waylon tries to skirt past me, eager to see something no one should see.
"No. Do not go over there. I know you think you want to see him, but you don't."
He doesn't try again. "Are you okay, Miranda? You need to sit down?"
"We gotta call the police, go grab my phone from the truck," Aaron says.
"He was in my store, Aaron. Three days ago. I threw him out."
"Miranda, listen to me. When the cops get here, please don't tell them about the cars down there. I need to see this through. Will you do that for me?"
I couldn't care less about those old cars on the bottom of the pond. I want to know how Ed Preston wound up under a filthy couch at Haynes Pond. And who it was that put him there.
Waylon comes back with the phone and a bottle of water. "Here. Thought you might need this." He uncaps it for me and puts it in my hand. "Are you gonna puke?"
As soon as he says it, the biscuit makes a beeline for the top of my throat. I drop to my knees and let it go.
"Waylon, help her back to the truck. Turn it on and get the a/c going."
"You coming?" Waylon asks.
"In a minute," Aaron says softly.
I lean back on the headrest when we get in the truck. The air blows cool against my clammy skin.
As much as I disliked Ed Preston, he was a person. No one deserves to be dumped like trash. Nobody.
To be continued ...
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