My Bologna |
Christopher Johnson is a writer based in the Chicago area and has published articles and essays in The Progressive, Appalachia, Snowy Egret, Earth Island Journal, Chicago Life, American Forests, and other magazines. In 2006, the University of New Hampshire Press published his first book, This Grand and Magnificent Place: The Wilderness Heritage of the White Mountains. He is also the co-author of Forests for the People: The Story of America’s Eastern National Forests, published by Island Press in 2013. |
Me and Mo
Dad bought the TV in 1955. He wasn’t happy about buying it, but Mom kept after him, telling him that this was the modern way, having a TV. “Just a damned way to sell us sh—er, stuff that we don’t need,” he said, shaking his head as if a relative had just died. Most kids on the block had a TV for at least a year or two before we did. I remember going over to the neighbors’ house to watch Howdy Doody. Can you imagine having to go next door to watch TV? Well, me and Mo did. It was like we were poor or something. Dad finally gave in to the Mom-pressure. The pressure like no other pressure in the world. At any rate, me and Mo, we were really happy now that we had a TV to watch.
Mo was only two years younger than me, which made her eight during the time that I’m telling you about. That wasn’t her real name, which you probably guessed but I’m going to tell you anyway. Maureen. That was her real name. The name she came out of the hospital with. But Mo was a lot easier to say, and it kind of fit the way she was. Mo’s face was round as a cookie, and she had a little pug nose like a terrier, and her hair was cut short, almost as short as a boy’s but not quite that short. Her eyes were ocean-blue, real deep-like because there was a lot going on behind them. Those eyes--they were constantly going back and forth, just taking things in. Mo’s favorite word was “Why?” Drove Dad crazy sometimes.
So at long last we had our TV! To me, that silver box was magical. It brought heroes and adventures into my boring, boring life. Especially the cowboys. I loved them—I just soaked them up. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Hopalong Cassidy, Wild Bill Hickok. They handed out justice and revenge. Those cowboys—they were my allies. I mean, I knew they were just TV actors, but even so, when I watched, I was right there, in the Old West, chasing the bullies and the bad guys. Capturing them. Sending them to jail. It felt so good to see those bad guys going to jail. It made me feel really really good, like I was as strong and powerful as Gene and Roy and Hopalong and Wild Bill.
So, there me and Mo were that night, watching TV. Resting after a tough day at school, laying on our bellies on the carpet with its kind of faded roses and vines, and we were watching the Gene Autry Show. Gene Autry--he was the singing cowboy. He’d sing a kind of dopey song and then he and his hilarious sidekick, Pat Buttram, would take care of the bad guys.
Meanwhile, Dad sat in his easy chair with the lump in the back that Grandma--his mom—gave us after she bought a new one at Sears. He was tall and gangly, with hair the color of wet sand. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and had long, skinny legs that reminded me of a grasshopper. He was reading the newspaper. No matter how horrible the news was, Dad’s face never changed. Khrushchev might be going crazy and close to starting a war against America. The Communists might be taking over the government. Didn’t matter. When he read the paper, he wasn’t happy or sad or angry. He was just reading, taking it all in. Once in a while, he’d read something and then say, “Hmm.” The world’s going to explode! Everyone’s going to die! “Hmm.”
While Dad was reading and me and Mo were watching Gene Autry, Mom was burrowed into the far end of the couch, which sagged in a way that looked kind of sad. She was sewing something—I don’t remember what. She had these thin lips, and her skin was white as vanilla, and she had spidery fingers. Her eyes were brown, and this was the weird thing—in the middle of one of her eyes was a small spot of green. I’d noticed it one time when she was giving my face a good hard scrubbing. She wore a dress the color of lime, and it spread around her like it was made of papier-maché. She wore pointy glasses that were real popular back then.
A commercial interrupted Gene Autry. Mo, she was hungry, so she got up to go out to the kitchen to get a snack. A minute later she came traipsing back in, and she was balancing a peanut butter and jelly piece of bread in her hand. She looked down at the floor while she walked. Her shoulders were slumped because she was so tired after the tough day at school. She slid her feet along.
Then, out of nowhere, Mom looked up from the world of her sewing. She said, “Maureen, straighten up! Pull your head up! Lift your feet when you walk!” Mom’s voice made me pull my eyes away from Gene Autry and look at her.
Mo—well, she just kept staring at the floor and slumping and sliding her feet along the carpet. Dad slowly put down his newspaper and stirred in the easy chair with the lump in the back. He looked at Mo with those blue eyes, which his wire-rim glasses made look bigger, like fish eyes. “Maureen,” he said. He sounded even more irritated than Mom because he had to interrupt reading the paper. “Didn’t you hear your mother? Hold your head up! Lift your feet when your walk!”
Mo kept slouching toward the spot where she’d been sitting on the floor next to me. She sat down. She started to watch Gene Autry again. She munched on her peanut butter and jelly bread. Gene Autry drew his gun and started shooting at some bad guys. Other than the sounds of the guns, the living room was silent.
Dad put down his paper. He folded it neatly and put it on the stained coffee table next to him. I looked at him and thought, “Uh-oh.” He got up real slow out of the chair with the lump in the back. He walked over to where me and Mo lay on the floor. He put his hands on his hips and stared down at Mo, who kept chomping away at her peanut butter and jelly bread and watching Gene Autry. Dad’s face—it was all kind of scrunched up. He looked like he was twenty feet tall. He looked at me. “Turn the damned TV off, Herb.”
“But, Dad, it’s right in the middle of the show!” Then I thought, “What a gyp!” but I didn’t say it. I knew better than that. I got up like a robot and switched off the TV.
“Hey!” Mo said , looking at me real irritated. “Whaddya doing?” She took another chomp out of her peanut butter and jelly bread.
Before I could answer her, Dad said, “Maureen!”
She looked up at him in this lazy kind of way. I felt my heart rattle like chains in my chest.
Mom set aside her sewing. She got up and walked over to us. She stood next to Dad and looked down at both of us. “Herb!” she said. “Go to your room!”
“But I didn’t do nothing wrong!”
“Go to your room!”
I obeyed. I mean, what was I going to do? My heart was beating at twice its regular rate. I glanced at Mo. She was looking up at them. She calmly chewed her peanut butter and jelly bread.
I hauled myself off the carpet with the faded roses and vines. As I walked through the living room and toward the stairs, I kept my eyes down. I wanted to stay as invisible as possible. I climbed the stairs toward my bedroom. Only I didn’t go to my room. I got to the top stair, turned around, sat down, and watched. I watched everything that happened.
Dad looked down at Mo, took off his wire-rimmed glasses, and rubbed the top part of his nose, where his glasses rested. He said, “Maureen, you need a lesson in how to walk like a lady! Get up! And put that damned piece of bread down!”
Mom stood next to Dad, and she had her hands on his hips. She didn’t say anything, but her mouth was real grim, like when you go to a funeral. She stared at Mo.
Oh my God, I remember thinking, as I sat there at the top of the stairs. Oh my God.
Mo looked up at Dad and then at Mom. She blinked like someone who was in the path of a speeding train but didn’t have time to get out of the way. She placed the peanut butter and jelly bread down on the carpet. She got up slowly. Her skinny feet looked like stick figures popping out of the bottom of her jeans.
“Maureen, look at me!” Dad said.
She stared at him. I was puzzled why they were making such a big thing out of the way she walked. That was the thing that puzzled me most.
Dad said, “Now, damn it, you’re going to learn to walk in the proper way! You’re going to learn to walk the way a lady should walk!”
Mom said, “That’s right. You need a good lesson, young lady, in how to walk properly!”
Dad said, “Now there are three things that you have to remember about walking properly. The first thing is to hold your head high, as if you’re proud to be who you are. The second thing is to hold your back straight with the proper posture. That way, you won’t be bent over when you’re old. And the third thing is to lift your feet gracefully when you walk.” Dad turned to Mom. “Bea, show her how.”
Mom turned to Mo. “Now, watch closely.” I had this feeling that they and we were enemies in a war. It’s strange to say something like that about your Mom and Dad, but that’s how I felt. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t help myself.
Mom did what Dad said. She walked to one side of the living room. She straightened her back like there was a steel rod up and down her back. She held her head high. She started to walk, lifting her feet about three inches off the ground and swinging her arms. She looked like a soldier walking across the carpet. I almost laughed at how she looked as she marched across the living room.
Mo watched as Mom marched across the living room, her back straight and her head held high like a peacock’s. When Mom reached the other end of the living room, she turned around and relaxed into her normal posture. I’d never seen Mom walk that way before in my whole entire life. Not in my whole life.
Dad stared at Mo. “Now you do it.”
Mo stared at him.
“Let’s go!” Dad said. Mom stood next to Dad, her hands on her hips.
Mo muttered something under her breath. I don’t think Mom and Dad saw it, but I did. She hesitated. She stared up at Dad. Then she looked away from him and down at the floor. Then she held her head up, straightened her back, and pulled her shoulders back. She started walking like Mom did. She lifted her feet a couple of inches with each step and marched across the living room floor. She held her back as straight as if a giant nail had been pounded through her from her shoulders to her stomach.
“That’s much better,” Mom said. Her voice softened a little. She turned around to return to the sofa and her sewing.
Dad looked at Mom. “How do we know she’ll walk right unless she practices? I want her to do it again.”
Mom stared at Dad. “Arthur,” she said.
“She’s got to practice if she’s going to learn to walk right!”
I could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock. Dad turned to Mo. “Do it again.”
Mo stared at him. She just kept staring at him. My heart was pounding now, like it would burst right out of my chest. Mo opened her mouth. She was going to say something. But then she closed her mouth. She started to walk. She was stiff, like someone had shoved a tree limb down her back. She marched slowly. She reached the other end of the living room. She looked down. She kept opening and closing her hands to make little fists.
Dad said, “That was better. But I still think you need more practice.”
“Arthur!” Mom said. She stared at him without blinking. Then she turned to Mo. “You did well, Maureen. Now go to your room.” Mo got up. She half-walked, half-ran toward the stairs.
I panicked, thinking that she and Mom and Dad would see me. I rushed to my bedroom, opened the door, and closed it most of the way. But I left it open a crack so I could see what was going on. Mo--she ran by me. She ran into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, so hard that the whole upstairs shook.
In a few moments, I heard footsteps. I closed the door a little more, but I kept it open just enough to see what was going on. It was Mom. She rushed down the hallway past my bedroom to Mo’s. She knocked on the door. “Maureen?” There was no answer. She opened the door, went in, and closed the door behind her.
I closed my door and took my clothes off as if I were shedding skin. I was trembling. I climbed into bed and turned off the light. The darkness was like a thick, horrible blanket. The hands of the clock on the small table in the corner of the bedroom said five after nine. I shivered in bed. The sheets felt like sandpaper, scratchy against my skin. I put my arms around myself. The sleep wouldn’t come. I hated the rose-and-vine carpet in the living room. I coughed and choked. Silence.
Morning. I went down to breakfast. Dad was already gone to work. Mom and Mo were there in the kitchen. Mo sat at the kitchen table. Her eyes were red. Mom went through the motions of fixing us breakfast. She poured us Sugar Pops, and she murmured things to herself, over and over. I looked at Mo. She was quiet as she spooned the Sugar Pops into her mouth. The red floated in her eyes.
“Mom,” I asked. “Can me and Mo eat breakfast in the living room and watch TV?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice—it was different than usual. “Just this one time.” We carried our cereal bowls into the living room. I turned on the TV and found the cartoons. Bugs Bunny. Me and Mo, we sat next to each other and watched. We both got caught up in the cartoon—the colors, the crazy sounds. The cartoon was stupid, but we both laughed as Bugs made a fool out of Elmer Fudd.
Mom popped her head into the living room. “Time to get ready for school!” There was still something wrong with her voice.
We collected our books, kissed Mom good-bye, and started walking to school, just like we did every day. We didn’t say much on the way, but we both tried as hard as we could not to step on cracks in the sidewalk. When we got close to school, Mo suddenly turned to me and said, “Hey, Herbie, you’re crowding me. Stay on your side of the sidewalk!”
“You’re such a jerk!” I said.
“No bigger than you are!”
We looked at each other. Then I did something that I never did before. I went up close to Mo, and I took her hand. My right hand and her left hand. I was her brother and all, and brothers and sisters aren’t supposed to hold hands. But something in me made me do it. And she didn’t pull away either. No, she didn’t. We walked, and I felt her skin, and I felt her squeezing my hand back. We didn’t say anything. We just walked. When we got close to school, I let go of her hand. You know, we were getting near school and all the kids and everything. But I was glad—I was glad I did it.
Mehreen Ahmed is an internationally acclaimed author. She has published flash fiction, short stories, novels, historical travelogue, academic reviews/article, journalistic write-ups, and nonfiction essays. Her books, The Pacifist, is "Drunken Druid The Editors' Choice for June 2018", and Jacaranda Blues,"The Best of Novels for 2017 - Family Novels of the Year" by Novel Writing Festival. Her flash fiction, "The Portrait" chosen to be broadcast by Immortal Works, Flash Fiction Friday, 2018. Bats Downunder, one of her short stories, selected by editors of Cafelit to be included in "The Best of Cafelit 8, 2019". She has published with Routledge: Journal of Computer Assisted Language Learning, Cambridge University Press: Cambridge Journals Language Teaching, (see Cambridge Core: https://doi.org/10.1017/S0261444803221935), University of Hawaii and Michigan State University (see Scholarspace: http://hdl.handle.net/10125/44261) Language Learning and Technology, Call-EJ. Learner Autonomy Special Interest group (IATEFL, LASIG), Independence, Issue 54, Spring 2012, University of Kent, Canterbury, Learning and Leading with Technology (ISTE) December/January issue, 2000-01, Vol. 28 No.4. Straylight Magazine, CommuterLit.Com, Scarlet Leaf Review (April and May issue),The World of Myth Magazine, Literary Yard, Fear and Trembling Magazine, Terror House Magazine, Connotation Press, The Punch Magazine (twice published), Re:Action Review, JumbelBook,Furtive Dalliance Literary Review, Velvet Illusion Literary Magazine, Storyland Literary Review, Spillwords Press: Where words matter, Wordcurd, Adelaide Literary Magazine, CafeLit Magazine, Story Institute, USA, Cosmic Teapot Publishing, Canada, The Sheaf: Campus newspaper for the University of Saskachewan, Clarendon House Publications UK, Dastaan World Magazine, Books On Demand, Germany, Nyctophilia.gr, Greece. amazon.com/author/amazon.com.mehreenahmed https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5267169.Mehreen_Ahmed https://theeditorschoice.wordpress.com/ https://novelwritingfestival.com/?s=Mehreen+Ahmed https://www.abebooks.co.uk/servlet/SearchResults?kn=Mehreen+Ahmed&sortby=17&xpod=on&cm_sp=pan-_-srp-_-xpod |
IN SEARCH FOR THE PURIST
This young man, Tom Braidy, had uncountable, casual encounters with her over the years. Many of them she valued, others she ignored. But the fact that in his happy demeanour, he took the trouble to ask, how her day was, and what she had been up to, made it all meaningful to her. Some days he even walked her down the street to the corner of Tattersole Arcade to her apartment. It need not to be expressed, but there was an uncanny connection between the two of them, which neither of them explored, to take the relationship further.
This was pretty much Laura Jane’s life at twenty-five. She was not poor. Neither was she highbrow, middle or lowbrow. She traveled frequently, to get away from mundane drudgery. Much of the world, she saw was on cruises across the Mediterranean, the Atlantic and the Indian oceans. She received scholarship, and saved up from the sales of her art for these journeys. On several occasions, she took along her paraphernalia of artwork. Such cruises gave her the high, an inspiration, to sit raptured on the deck without an exception. To watch dolphins frolicking in the undercurrent; immersed in the jaded waters of oceanic wonders. Or behold the cataclysmic cyclonic breaths of cloud-folds in rumpus. Sultry, summer’s day were perfect to capture these moments. Moments of tranquility and rage caught on canvas. By far, her resolute adherence to structure, revealed the exquisite beauty of her artwork. Her strokes were bold. They displayed glimpses of insightful richness of colour: gold, emerald and scarlet. Contrary to the tunnelled visions, her brushes touched the core of life, the principles and properties of rainwater that made life possible, under every garnered atom of the earth. She once sketched a silhouetted doe against a translucent light of the golden ray. The spirited female dear leapt high, and low to reach out to the leaves at sunrise in an enchanted forest under a macabre.
She was alone, but not lonely. Her siblings took her to be spinsterish, who selected to lead a life of desolation. They assumed, her days must be too bleak, like midwinter mornings, without a beau. But there was no heaviness in the purist’s heart. No poignant regrets to bear grudges. She felt feisty, and chose to remain blissfully ignorant of the promising “otherness,” some lifestyles offered. Rather in all earnestness, when she portrayed a bleakness, such as terrifying lightenings above murky oceans, she laced them with sprinklings of silver linings. Through turbulence or placidity, brightness or morbidity, her portraits glowed with exultant warmth and optimism. No one knew what imparted such sheen to her art. Neither did she. Her depiction of a transcendental reality, allayed any fears or new trepidations arising out of tomorrow’s uncertainties. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow’s dispositions found their way into the depths of her canvas, in nuanced details of thrills and hopes; divorced of a formidable tomorrow.
2
One day, however, a fatalistic frontier unveiled before her. A sense of foreboding loomed without a description. Her inner peace threatened. Until now she had been untouched by quandary. But it had to do with the owner of the corner shop,Tom Braidy. In all the world, this only man, who treated her with some respect, asked her out tonight. She agreed, because of the lure of an enchantment; a romantic interlude which awaited a special tomorrow. As she descended from the bus, she walked over to the shop to buy milk. Tom Braidy was not in the shop. It was a midwinter evening. The dense fog like Turin’s shroud covered most of the Daintree rainforest ahead. The fog hung from a panoramic ceilinged sky in opaque, droplets of whitewashed walls. When she entered the shop, she couldn’t find Tom. No matter, she opened the fridge to reach for the milk. Everything else appeared normal, except Tom’s peculiar absence. He was not there at the check-out counter. In fact, he was no where around to be seen. Laura Jane, was concerned, more so curious. She stood still with the milk bottle in her hand awhile, then walked over to the till, where she usually found him. Her gaze shifted momentarily to something lying on the floor. It was an inert body, a corpse at worst. She looked carefully. Her eyes scanned the body, head to toe, up and down to take a closer look. Pupils darted to make sure that there was no mistake. It looked like someone she knew only too well. It was but, no one else’s body but Tom himself. It was he, who lay here, hard as a fallen filbert; left to rot overnight; decaying spots of clots, like the yellowed sycamore. She was petrified. As was the body, cold as frozen fish. Someone had murdered Tom, and she was the first to find the body. The brittle bottle of milk fell from her clutches. It scattered all over the floor; many-sized glass fragments in milk, glimmering pebbles under a foamy sea-bed. The milk fused with Tom’s dead blood, a rivulet of honeyed, textured blend. She fainted.
3
Again, there was yet, another tomorrow. This tomorrow without a closure; away from all other tomorrows of her past years, this which brought only starkness. For when she woke up in the hospital, her head hurt from the harshness. It destabilised her mental balance. She gathered her torn self from the shock. In the heart of it, she was still nervous sore from all she witnessed; this magic long gone. This too, too, terrifying episode transpired into an illness. With no known panacea, the chemical composition of her tetchy mind went awry. The euphoric sparks from her porous imagination occluded.‘The end of imagination,’ her heart clamped up. It recoiled, and she actually suffered a blow of loneliness for the first time. She felt short-changed. Nostalgia gripped her from loss of a friend. Nothing brought back her solace; neither the dedication of her artwork, nor the keen cruises she braved on those curvy seas. She knew she was unattractive, but thought she had fragile youth of infrangible bones. Mistaken; now they caved in like clay pottery, broken in the mould of novice hands. Her sketches rendered nothing, other than unscented wasteland of lustreless stills. Her palpable sensuousness of sights and sounds, touches, tastes and smells in crisis. She viewed the same prosaic tomorrow, that every other artist also viewed. She ceased to be the exceptional purist.
4
Joke Box
So, where was I? Yes, the box, of course. Get this. Mary, my wife, was in the kitchen ruining the most important meal of the day. While that’s happening, I was sneaking out the front to get a quick cigarette. Lighting one up as I opened the door, and there it, it being the box, sat. “Shit!” I said startled, almost busting my ass falling over the damn thing. I bent down to take a better look at the box.
“Is that a cigarette, John?” my wife yelled from the kitchen.
Shit! I launched that cigarette like Joe Montana and snapped back, “What are you talking about Mary?! Maybe… You should have someone check your eyes!”
“I smelt it, dumbass.”
Ignoring my partner till eternity, I noticed words carved into the box. I, being a somewhat educated man, starting reading, "I'm so sorry to do this. It cannot be destroyed but only given. Best of luck." I, again a somewhat educated man, unlatched the box and started to open it.
My mistake.
Out of the slight opening in the box, a sound began roaring, “Hello? Operator, I don’t care heaven or hell, just get me to one of them!”.
I slammed the box shut. My eyes shot to the kitchen. She didn’t hear that? I turned back to the wooden container. What the hell… Before I could allow myself to slip into insanity, I decided to, and did, open the box fully.
There it sat. A human head. I began rubbing my eyes as if there was a stain on them. The head’s eyes then opened. Now, reader, I began to panic.
“Why the long face, friend?” the uhhh... head asked me. I, being rather speechless, remained speechless as the head continued, “If I had that long of a face, I’d need a bigger box!”
"John…" my wife barely spoke, trembling.
I slammed the box shut again. “Mary, go back to the kitchen,” I warned.
“John, what’s in the box?” she asked softly.
“Nothing,” I said, wanting to protect her.
“What’s in the box?” she then repeated, color draining from her already unbelievably pale face.
“Mary, I don’t know,” I answered as honestly as I could.
"What's in the box?!" she repeated with the addition of increased volume and panic.
Now, reader, I'm going to do you a favor and skip the next 15 minutes, or what felt to me as a lifetime. Know that my wife, during this gap of time, has begun finally, but not fully, to calm down. I, being from Jersey, am doing okay.
I then, after some silence, pick up the box. It’s surprisingly very light. I slowly open the box. The head, I assume unable to help itself, opens with, “I’ve heard I’m very light”.
“Surprisingly”, I state, cautiously turning to my wife.
“That’s because I’m an airhead!” the head yells, only to be muffled by his own laughter.
“Nope,” I say, slamming the box shut. I proceeded to the back door before looking back at my wife. “It must be destroyed!” I announce, my figure pointing upward, fully determined.
“It’s a slight against God,” she replied.
“Also, comedians, and those who can hear,” I confirm. With a nod, I’m out the door and headed to my small shop.
Over the next three days, I failed to destroy the box and its host. After each failed attempt, I am berated and bombarded with horrible jokes as I check to see if my work has been completed. Just yesterday as I finished burying the box, I strolled back into my home only to find the damn thing on my table! I flung the box open in horror.
The head, waiting for his cue said, “Well, don’t go losing your head now!”
Reader, I’m not a bad person. Though I am just a person. On that fourth day, I could stand it no longer. Mary had gone to her mother’s on the second day, and well, I missed her. I missed that woman and her hardly edible cooking. So, I broke. That very night I snuck to the neighbor’s front porch and left the damn thing. I thought about leaving a note, anything that might help those I’ve now doomed. I then remembered the carvings on the box.
"I'm so sorry to do this. It cannot be destroyed but only given. Best of luck."
Fin
SHELTER
“Do we hide again?” Eli asks.
Oscar gets up and takes Cookie. Eli runs to her bed. “Cookie, Eli, remember,” he says, “don’t come out unless I say so.” He hides Cookie and Eli under their bed.
“Ozzie, can you hand me Mr. Snuffles?” Cookie asks.
Oscar grabs the teddy bear from the floor and hands it to Cookie. Cookie grabs it and hugs it. Oscar stands and tiptoes to the door as the shouting match downstairs continues. He opens the door and peeks outside.
Plates are being thrown. Promises are being broken.
Footsteps approach. The children’s mother hustles up the stairs and Oscar opens the door completely to let her in. She comes in the bedroom with her hair unkempt and a red imprint of a hand on her cheek. She takes Eli and Cookie out from under the bed and carries Cookie in her arms.
“Oscar, get the go bags,” the mother says. “Eli, with me.”
Oscar runs to the room closet and digs through it. He finds two medium sized bags and carries them. The mother turns to Oscar.
“We go to the car,” she says, “and we don’t come back.”
“Mommy, what about my—” Cookie says.
“Cookie, we have to go,” the mother interrupts.
The four of them make their way down the creaky, old stairs and dash for the door. The father continues yelling by himself. The whiskey odor more prominent downstairs. On the way out the door, Oscar sees their father shouting and gulping from the whiskey bottle.
“Oscar, take your sisters to the car,” she orders.
The mother puts Cookie down and Cookie grabs Oscar’s hand. The three children run to the car parked in front.
The mother goes back inside and grabs the car keys on the kitchen counter. The father grabs the mother and proceeds with his drunk bickering.
Oscar, Eli, and Cookie wait outside with the bags.
“Oz, what about our books?” Eli asks.
“What about Mr. Snuffles?” Cookie asks.
Oscar looks inside and sees their mother and father arguing through the window. He runs inside to get it. Encumbered by the whiskey air and the unceasing yelling, he rushes to his bedroom. He grabs Mr. Snuffles from under the bed and two books from the desk. He goes down the stairs, out the house, and to his sisters.
“Mr. Snuffles,” Cookie exclaims as she hugs her teddy bear.
“Thank you, Oz,” Eli says.
Oscar kisses Eli on top of her head.
The mother and father exit the house. She throws the car keys to Oscar who catches them. He opens the family wagon and puts the bags inside. He puts his sisters in the worn backseat. He sits in the passenger’s seat and waits for his mother.
The father grabs her by the arm, and she wrestles out of his grip.
“No more,” the mother says.
The father grabs her again and slaps her across the face causing her to fall down.
Oscar flinches.
“Momma,” Eli and Cookie yell simultaneously, slamming the back-door window repeatedly.
Oscar sees a nearly empty bottle of Johnnie Walker at his feet and grabs it. The mother drags herself away from the father, staining her pastel yellow dress. The father staggers toward her as Oscar walks up to him, whiskey bottle shaking in his hand.
Oscar slams the bottle across his father’s face. His father falls along with the bottle.
Oscar helps his mother stand and walk to the car. Cookie, Eli, Oscar, and their mother drive away. The mother looks at Oscar, who is staring out the window. She grabs and holds his hand, gaining his attention. She smiles through the pain and so does he.
THE GIRL WHO ALMOST KILLED ME
EXCERPT
My Monday morning seemed mundane enough as I grabbed my keys off the counter and dashed across the kitchen, cramming whatever I could into my mouth to keep my dad from launching into a full blown lecture about how breakfast was the most important meal of the day.
I started the car and drove like a mad woman to StoneyBrook High. Again. Because I was running late to school. Again.
I glanced at my watch as I pulled over into the school parking lot.
I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I nearly rammed into one of the students. He had dropped all his books and was staring at me like a deer caught in headlights.
I scrambled out of my Tesla, apologising profusely, while picking up his books. He shrugged and walked off, shaking his head and muttering something about pedestrian rights.
I watched as he made his way into the entrance. He was probably a new student. I hadn’t seen him around before. He had that hopeful, fresh faced look that everyone at StoneyBrook High had before it got crushed. After week 2.
At first glance, he didn't really look very handsome but on closer inspection, he had a great facial structure. His entire appearance screamed confidence : his soft looking hair which was a dark brown, almost black , fell into his eyes, oh his eyes, his cold,dark eyes that gleamed with mischief. His outfit was casual enough, a black V neck shirt , coal grey pants and black and white striped Vans but something about him made me wish I could see him again.
I watched him till he was less than a shadow in the crowd and I had this eerie feeling that we would become really close.
Chapter 1
A year later.
I stole a glance at Khas. He looked positively adorable in the black button-down shirt I bought him and a pair of snug jeans which is not something a friend - even less a close friend - would notice. He caught me looking at him and shot me a devious grin. A waiter hovered impatiently next to our table.
“ What would her highness like to eat?”, he playfully asked. “My treat. It is my 17th birthday after all”, he added.
I could scarcely believe that I was dining with Khas-U, less than a year after I nearly killed him.
I remember how he set his lunch tray beside mine that day and said “Hello, girl who nearly killed me”.
He soon became the most popular guy in our year and threw me into the spotlight with him. I still consider myself lucky for meeting him because I was plain and never noticed before.
We’ve been close friends ever since.
“ ‘Your Highness’? Isn’t it your birthday?”, I asked bashfully. “Also, you’re not paying a cent.” I turned to the waiter. “I would like -”
“One dragon carrot risotto with a side of a Caesar salad - low fat mayonnaise instead of Dijon mustard - and a virgin mojito. I’ll have the mushroom fricassee with a side of garlic bread and sparkling water. And we’ll split the bill”, he said,shooing the waiter away before I could object.
He turned back and saw me glaring at him.
“What? It’s what you did when I tried to treat you on your birthday. It’s only fair.” he said with wide, hurt, innocent puppy eyes.
He grinned mischievously when I didn’t stop glaring.I sighed and sunk into my chair. “Okay. You win.”, I said. He reclined, satisfied.
He always wins, I thought, frowning at him from across the table. He stared right back at me, the cocky, satisfied smile slowly fading from his face, replaced with a clouded, serious look. I don’t know how long we looked at each other like that, wordlessly, but I was glad when the waiter came with our food and drinks. When the waiter left, the awkward moment had passed and his cocky grin returned.
“So”, he said. “ How is it?”
“The same as the last hundred times I ate it.”,I said.
“Then let’s do something else.”,he said with decided emphasis. I frowned at him, confused.
He looked at me once more before grabbing my wrist and dragging me away from the table. He slapped a few notes on the table before impatiently dragging me away. I followed him unsure and helpless.
We dashed across the street and head back to his huge mansion. He led me up several flights of stairs until, finally we burst into the cool night air on his shackled roof. His grip tightened as he we stepped onto the gentle slope of the roof.
A bottle wrapped in paper lay haphazardly on the roof. It said ‘drink me’. “My mom,”, he began and broke of ,his voice choked. I breathed in sharply.
Khas’s mom died of cancer when he was six, he seldom spoke about her.
He swallowed and went on, “My mom named me after the Arabic word for special. She was Arabic. My dad was Caucasian. It was a classic conflict of love kind of tale”, he said as he swished around his drink in the bottle.
“She used to get me up on this roof every day and tell me that I was special. Even on the days when she couldn’t she would leave a bottle of my favourite drink here with a message that said I was.
My dad leaves a bottle here every year on my birthday because he thinks it makes me feel better ”, he said. “It breaks my heart to even think about it but...”, he said and suddenly broke off.
I looked at him,surprised .I had never seen him like this, with a lost,pained far away look in his eyes.
His eyes met mine. He gently placed his hand on mine, “but when I’m with you, it feels like it never happened.
Its funny, I want to be with you and cry about this but when I’m with you I’m so happy, I can’t cry. You make me feel special, just like she did.”, he said.
My heart was in my throat, a slight gurgle escaped from it as I tried to find something to say.
“Hey, now.”, he said, noticing this. “Let’s not make this more awkward then it is”, he said, shooting me his infamous cocky smile before breaking off eye contact.
A tear ran down my cheek. I wanted to hug him, to hold him, to tell him that I would be there for him no matter what happened, but I couldn’t get the words out, partially because he told me not to make it more awkward and partially because my throat was choked with a billion emotions. I quickly wiped my face and smiled at him, lacing my fingers through his. “She sounds wonderful.”, I said instead.
He smiled. It was a different smile, one that lit up his face and softened his hard, arrogant face. “She was.”, he said. “She really was.”
He lay down, and looked up at the stars, silent and unmoving. After a moment, I did the same. The sky was alive and beautiful. The stars were shining so brightly that in the moment I would’ve believed that they were just holes in the floor of heaven instead of giant balls of gas.
“It’s beautiful.”,I breathed. “It is.”, Khas said.
I think it was only my imagination, but I felt his gaze on me as he spoke. I blushed at the thought.
Of course he isn’t. We’re just friends, I thought.
Thanking God that it was dark, I glanced at my watch. It was nearly eleven. “Oh my God,”I said sitting up. “I-I have to go. I’m sorry.”
Khas looked at his own watch. “No, it’s okay. It really is late.”
He walked me down and to my car. “See you tomorrow.”, I said, trying my best to smile. “See you,”,he said.
As I drove away, I glanced at my rear mirror and saw him standing, watching, receding in the distance. I knew at that instant that everything would change. Whether it was for the better or for the worse was something only time would tell.
Chapter 2
I made my way to my locker at Stoney Brook high. It was nearly time for basketball practice. I grabbed my ankle support, Air Jordans, basketball shorts and a half eaten breakfast bar and shoved them into the tacky backpack my aunt had gifted me. It was supposed to be a good omen. Not that I believed in that sort of thing.
I powered through the hallways all the way to Khas’s locker.
“Hey”, I said, slightly out of breath, “You coming?”, I asked as Khas stuffed his jersey in his duffle bag.
Basketball was one of the few things Khas and I had in common. He was the kind of deep, distant guy that saw beauty in the most mundane things, naturally he was a modern art lover. His room was adorned with paintings made by Renoir and Vincent Van Gogh and he even had a huge self portrait of his hung at the far end of his room. How he became the most popular guy in our grade will forever remain a mystery, something wrapped in enigma.
“Let's go”, he said, shooting me a quick smile as we walked to the court. Just as we entered the linoleum court, his gaze fell on my backpack and his eyes widened.He grabbed it from my hand and examined it closer.
“What is this?”, he demanded, his words accusatory and his tone acerbic.
I had never seen Khas like this. He never raised his voice, let alone screamed at me. “It was a gift from my aunt”, my voice trailed off as his face became red hot.
“Why, what's wrong?”, I asked, my voice turning pointy.
The dark, angry look on his face passed and his cocky smile and slightly flirtatious nature returned
“Nothing”, he said. “Let’s play some ball”
*
“Mom, I’m home”, I called as I walked in through the front door. “Oh, hi”, I said awkwardly to my aunt, who happened to be scrawled across the couch.
“Finally, I thought you’d never come. Sit here”, she gestured to a bean bag next to her. “Is this going to take long? I have a lot of homework and-”, I was cut off.
“It’ll take as long as it has to take”. After this, she launched into a story which sent shivers down my spine.
The inhabitant of a cosy, little cottage set high up in the Hartz mountains walked out her humble dwelling. She was a blue eyed,rosy cheeked docile creature from Norwegia who fell in love with a strange, charming German man. He was a very cunning man but he did win the hearts of almost everyone he met. The two made a very charming couple.
Unfortunately, this girl’s beloved betrothed was dying and she was miserable because of it. Her heart bled to think of her existence without her better half.
As he lay on his deathbed, speculating the afterlife, she looked tenderly at him and decided, impulsively, to do it. Just as he was drawing his final breaths, she plunged a scalpel into her heart and proclaimed that their spirits would unite and live in bliss. As both their spirits left their bodies and made their way to each other, his spirit jilted hers in the last moment to go off with another.
“Well, that was intense”, I said, unfrazzled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of homework to do”, I said as I raced up the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going, young lady. Come back here right this second”, my cuckoo aunt demanded.
I grabbed my satchel from upstairs and bolted to the front door. I could not stand that woman. She thought of herself as a certified ‘psychic’. I don't mean any disrespect towards any psychics or anything but personally, I’m not a huge fan.
I decided to surprise Khas. I hadn’t seen him since after the breakdown at basketball practice.
He lived in the heart of the city between other mansions and the occasional skyscraper. Although my family was well off, our house was nowhere as near as extravagant as Khas’s.
I drove for a bit and pulled over at Khas’s mansion.
I knocked on the front door and as I waited for someone to open the door, I pulled out my phone to look at myself.
I was a mess. I was still in my dirty basketball jersey and terry cotton shorts and my hair was loosely hung back in a ponytail.
Before I had a chance to straighten out my ponytail or smoothen down my shorts, a red faced, jolly looking man opened the door.
“Good evening , Khas’s dad”, I said politely.
“Hi, there, please come in. Make yourself at home”, he said as he gestured towards the front room. “Thanks”, I said shyly. “Is Khas home?”, I asked meekly. For some reason, I always got jittery around Khas’s dad.
“He’s in his room”, he said. “Just go upstairs and surprise him, the boy has been very stressed lately”, he added before retiring to the couch.
I made my way up the stairs and towards Khas’s room. A huge Renoir painting hung on Khas’s room door. The door was slightly ajar so, I tiptoed in his room. I was about to call out his name when I noticed something strange on his bedside table. A book lay opened and a section of text was highlighted in it.
A blood curdling scream escaped my mouth and I watched as Khas’s eyes froze in horror when he saw me.
Chapter 3
“Oh thank God. It's only you.”,Khas said, sounding relieved. “You scared the crap out of me. Don’t ever do that again.” he scolded. He looked at me and frowned.
“What is it? What's wrong?”, he asked, worried. I looked at my face in the mirror behind him. I was pale, my eyes wide and scared.
“N-Nothing.”, I said, now blushing and embarrassed.
He bent his head so his eyes were level with mine. “No.”,he said. “Something’s wrong. I’ve never seen you looked so scared.”
I didn’t answer.
“Hey,”,he said, tilting my head up by gently nudging at my chin so I was now looking into his eyes. “You trust me, right?”. I nodded.
“Then tell me.”,he said. He walked over to his bed and sat down. Hesitantly, I joined him.
“It really is nothing…”, I began and trailed off when I saw the concern on his face. “It's just that my aunt told me this really tragic, disturbing love story and… when I came here, I saw that you had highlighted the same story in your book.”, I took a deep breath to calm myself down. “It just… It freaked me out.”
“Is that all?”,he asked. I nodded again.
“Why-?”
“Why did I highlight the story? Well…”, he began. He turned away, but I still noticed his expression. It was shy and he was blushing. Khas was blushing. “I like… this girl. I think she likes me back but I’m not sure. I just wanted to remind myself of what could happen if I got too carried away.”
I should be feeling happy. Any normal friend would be if they heard that their friend had found someone. Yet, the first thing I felt was jealousy and an insanely strong urge to tell him that it was true that it was likely that she would hurt him. Instead, I poked and teased him until I found a legitimate excuse to leave. I ran out and got into my car after a hurried goodbye and drove away as fast as I could without getting into any major accidents.
When I was a little far away from his house, at the edge of the city, I pulled over and tried to calm myself down and figure out what had just happened. After successfully calming myself down, I drove home , with the windows rolled down to cool my hot face.
When I reached, I felt inexplicably tired. I told my mom I wasn’t hungry and went straight to bed, thanking God that it was a Friday so I could sleep in.
*
I woke up at ten the next morning. As I dragged myself down for a cup of coffee, my mom spotted me and smiled.
“Finally.”,she said. “l was starting to think you’d never wake up.”
She looked me up and down and frowned. “Are you okay,sweetie? You look so tired even though you've been sleeping for so long.”
“I’m fine mom. I just need some coffee.”, I said.
“Well you're in luck. Dad went to Starbucks this morning and bought you your favourite”,she said, handing me the coffee. She picked up her own cup and smiled at me over the rim.
Suddenly, she put the cup down and smacked her head.
“Oh my God. I almost forgot. Khas is waiting for you in the front room.”
I nearly spat my coffee out. I managed to force it down my throat and say, “What?”
“Yeah.”,she said. “I'm sorry I didn't say anything before. If there was an award for worst host, I would get it. What are you staring at me for? Go!”
I put my coffee down and went to the front room. It was only when I saw Khas that I realized that I probably looked a mess. By then, it was too late.
“Hey.”, he said, almost shyly. He was wearing a white button down shirt and blue jeans. His hair was tousled and fell into his eyes. Basically, he looked like every girl's dream guy.
“Hi.”, I said just as shyly. I caught sight of my reflection in the ornate mirror that my aunt insisted we kept to keep us safe from bad juju or some crap. My hair stuck out in a halo around my head but I looked far from angelic. I could feel myself blushing when I looked back at Khas. “What’s up?”
“I… Do you remember me telling you that I liked someone yesterday?”
It all came flooding back. Suddenly I felt weak. I leaned against the wall. With herculean effort I nodded.
“Well, I'm looking at her”,Khas said.
He walked over to me and held my hands, which was a relief because I was two seconds away from fainting. “Will you go out with me?”
“Yes.”,I said, falling into his arms and hiding my red face in his neck.
Chapter 4
I stole a quick glance at myself in the mirror. I wore a tight butter yellow blouse that accentuated my chest paired with some Citizens of Humanity jeans complete with my black converse high tops. I was going for the whole ‘not trying too hard but still cute’ look.
I brushed my hair vigorously and bunched my hair into a high ponytail. As a finishing touch, I smeared some shimmery lip gloss on my pasty lips and as an afterthought squirted a bit of ‘White Diamonds’ to set the mood.
I was very jittery about my date with Khas. What started out as a platonic friendship had morphed into something huge that was uncertain and that was scary.
As I reached the bottom tier of the staircase, my eyes fell on Khas. His hair was tousled and his clothes were wrinkled yet he still looked flawless. He wore one of his infamous black V neck shirts and coal grey pants and striped black and white Vans. I was a bit disappointed on seeing that he hadn’t made much of an effort into his appearance. I clutched my bag and dug my fingernails into my jeans, suddenly feeling overdressed.
Khas met my eyes and whistled appreciably. “For you”, he said as he handed me a black rose. His hopeful eyes looked back at me.
Khas and I loved the book ‘The black tulip’ by Alexander Dumas, we felt that the idea of a rose, traditionally used to portray love , being black in colour was a sign of a dangerous, forbidden kind of love. The kind of love that has mysterious embers dancing around it and the only thing that overcomes its danger is passion itself. In a way, it seemed to imply that our growing love would be taking this path.
“Bye, mom”, I said as I grabbed Khas’s hand and ran to the front porch.
“Have I told you how breathtaking you look in this outfit? Not that you don’t look breathtaking everyday”, he quickly added.
This was what I loved about Khas. Although, on the outside, Khas had the whole ‘I’m a Jock and I’m confident as hell’ look going on, beneath that cold, hard exterior lay a soft, insecure, young boy who was repressed by society.
That is my favourite part about him, the fact that his eyes searched mine for approval when he said anything or the fact that he would feign indifference to what I would say but would actually hang on every word.
“Thank you so much, Khas. You’re not too bad yourself”, I said cheekily, and there I saw it, his wide smile spreading across his face, lighting up the entire street. “Let’s go”, he said.
He opened the car door for me and just as I slid in, pecked me on the cheek shyly and put my seatbelt on. “I hope it isn't too tight”, he said nervously.
“It fits perfectly”, I said referring to more than just the seatbelt.
As we drove, we talked about everything possible. He told me about how nervous he was for this date and launched into a story about how he tried on a hundred different outfits at the mall and face timed his dad who disapproved of and critically analyzed, which is a nice way of saying roasted, every outfit Khas tried on. “My dad just told me to wear the Khas Classics because that's the boy you fell in love with, not some Burberry trench coat wearing stock broker looking guy”.
For a moment, a hushed silence fell over the car. The word “love” seemed to reverberate in the car. Khas sensed that he had overstepped his bounds but he didn't seem like he was going to take back what he said.
They pulled up in front of a large planetarium. I looked questioningly at Khas, “Is this the right place?”, I implored when he didn't get the message. “Oh yeah, do you remember the night of my birthday? The night we went up on that roof and looked up at the stars? We had some unfinished business there, don’t you think? “, he said.
I could feel my face getting red hot and all I could think about was it wasn't my imagination! There really was a frisson in the air that night!
“Yes, there was some unfinished business”, I said and grinned.
We payed for our tickets and sat comfortably on our seats. Khas put his arm around me and I put my head on his shoulder. We watched, transfixed as the ceiling glowed and put up a pretty display of colours. Khas looked me dead in the eye.
“Is something wrong?”, I asked apprehensively. He broke into a smile. “Even if hell froze over, nothing would be wrong if you’re by my side. Now, look carefully at the ceiling”, Khas said with a steely expression on his face.
I hesitantly looked up at the ceiling, unwilling to take my eyes off Khas. And there it was, a small, insignificant blurb that glowed brightly. It said: To the girl who almost killed me, I think I love you.
My face was flushed, my eyes were teary, I leaned into Khas and kissed him softly on his lips. The soft kiss morphed into something stronger. He pulled me into him and kissed me harder. My hands played with his soft hair and his strong arms held me in a tight embrace. Our eyes met in the middle and he flashed me his pearly white smile. We drew back, delighted by what had happened but a bit embarrassed all the same.
“Now that our unfinished business is complete, let’s begin with our date, milady”, he said. I giggled, “Sure, where to next”, I asked, excitedly.
He linked his arms with mine and we strode to the car. We drove in silence for we were both wrapped up in our thoughts . My face was flushed the entire time and for some reason, a sort of painful expression adorned Khas’s.
We pulled to a stop at a fancy Italian hotel. The ambience was very sophisticated.
In the marble lobby, fake grass waved gently,as if it was disturbed by breeze. Ivy crept around pillars and a huge Sistine Chapel replica was splashed on the ceiling.
“We’re all about ceilings today, are we now”, I joked.
His eyes locked with mine, “There's only one way to go and that’s up”, he said, strangely referring to more than just ceilings, his eyes glazed over and a devilish smile crept across his face.
“Um,okay”, I said awkwardly.
He snapped out of his trance and said, “Where are my manners? We have a table under the name Khas U for the restaurant .”, Khas said to the receptionist.
“Of course”, she said. “Follow me, sir”, she led us to a huge room with a huge, single, white table in the centre. It was piled high with all the food that I loved. I gaped openly and managed to stammered a ‘Thanks’ to the lady.
“How did you do all this”, I asked, my thoughts combobulated. “I own this place, literally”, he said and guided me to the table.
He pulled out the chair and gestured to it, “Milady”. He took the seat across me and smiled
playfully.
“Don’t be overwhelmed. It is a bit much but my father insisted. He felt that it was the least he could do”, Khas said, suddenly embarrassed.
After a beat I said, “I love it”,and flashed a smile at him.
“I have something for you”, I said as I pulled out a bottle from my purse. “Your sticky, Arabic concoction is very difficult to find. I had to drive across town to find it.”, I said.
The bottle had a sticky note attached to it : “Drink me” it said.
Khas looked at me and then at the drink and then at me. “I really do love you. So much.”, he said. My face was flushed and my heart swollen with happiness. “I love you too, Khas U”.
Chapter 5
The next day, I woke up with a huge, embarrassingly dopey grin on my face. I opened my eyes, stretched and went downstairs. My mom saw me and her eyes widened a bit.
“Hey mom.”, I said, cheerfully and grabbed some toast.
“Hi sweetie!”, she said. “You're up early. And in a very good mood. ” “Yeah”
“So the date went well?”,she asked, her voice cheeky. “Yeah”
At that moment, my phone rang, saving me from any more embarrassing questions from my mother. It was Khas. I excused myself and went to my room.
“Hi.”, I said, almost shyly.
“Hey, there.”,Khas said, his voice playful and soft with affection. A smile spread across my face. “Did I wake you up?”
“No. I was awake.”
“Good. There’s a surprise for you at your front door.”
“Khas! You shouldn't have.”, I said. I was going to lecture him about how he shouldn't be spoiling me so much, but my curiosity got the better of me. “What is it?”, I asked, running down the stairs. Khas laughed.
“Well it happens to be...”, he said as I pulled the door open. “Me.”, he finished.
I waited for a moment to make sure that it wasn’t a dream before leaning in to kiss him.
“Best surprise ever.”,I said, when we broke away. He laughed, pulling me close and kissing the top of my head.
“You wanna go somewhere?”
“Sure. Let me just grab my coat and maybe change out of my pyjamas.” He looked me up and down. “Unicorns”,he said, amused. “Cute.”
I punched him in the arm. “Shut up.”He laughed.
I quickly changed into a skirt and a scoop neck t-shirt and threw my coat on.
“Okay. Let's go.”,I said.
*
School couldn’t have been better than it was dating Khas Peters.
He would come and pick me up in his luxury Aston Martin everyday and greet me with a kiss and a smile that could light up the world and cure cancer
Today was no different.
I was brushing out my hair when I heard the rev of Khas’s car in the driveway. I hurried downstairs and threw the door open. A cool breeze blew about, gently stirring my hair. I walked over to the car and opened the door.
“Hey gorgeous.”,Khas said as I settled down and fiddled with my seatbelt. He had a smile that was simultaneously soft and mischievous.
“Hey you.”, I said smiling. Khas leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips.
I reached up to touch his soft hair. Khas broke away and smiled. He reached out and brushed a stray hair away from my face. As he pulled his hand away, a dark look flitted across his face. He cupped my face his thumb gently brushing across my cheekbone. He leaned in again and began kissing me. This time, it was not the soft and gentle kisses I was accustomed to but a more urgent, hungry kiss. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him back. He broke away, smiling again and said, “I love you.”
“I love you too”, I said.
When we reached Stoney Brook high, we were greeted by our usual glares from juniors who were crushing on Khas and several “‘Sup man”s and back slaps from Khas’s fellow jocks.
And of course the polite “Hi”s and “How are you?”s from them in my direction. Khas and I had been dating for a couple of months.It took a while, but I got used to being popular.
Khas dropped me off at my locker and gave me quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon,okay?”,he said.
“Okay, bye.”,I replied, giving him a quick kiss.
I made my way across the hallway to get to Trigonometry. It was on the other side of school and I had about five seconds to get there or I’d be late. I ran as fast as my feet would take me and ended up collided against a boy.
“I am so sorry”, I said playing anxiously with my bag strap. “I didn't mean to-”, I began but was cut off by him.
“That’s okay”, he said. “I’m Jeremy”,he began and trailed off.
“We have French together, Jeremy. Plus, I sit behind you.”, I said.
“Oh yeah, but truth be told I’m flattered you noticed me”, Jeremy said, his cheeks reddening.
“What’s that supposed to mean”, I asked sharply.
“It's just that you’re a really popular girl and I’m a lowly junior, it feels nice to be noticed”, Jeremy said.
For a moment, I was stumped. I was the ‘Jeremy’ in Khas’s entourage. I was the outcast, flattered by the attention of any one who bothered to acknowledge my existence.
“Oh.”,I said, not knowing what else to say. He stared at me for a moment, frowning. “What?”,I said.
“Nothing.”,he said snapping out of his reverie. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never had any of you… popular people be so nice to me.
“You probably won’t believe me but I’ve been there. You wanna join me for lunch?”. “Um… Sure.”,he said. “Thanks. Okay I’ll see you then.”,he added shyly.
Chapter 6
I walked out of French class with Jeremy by my side. We’d been friends for a while now. He was a great guy, he didn't really have many friends though which was probably why I found myself offering to go over to his house so we could brush up on the ‘Pronoms Tonique’.
“So, what are your plans for lunch”, Jeremy asked me as we made our way to the caféteria. “Well, I have an apple, some peanut butter and a smushed cookie”, I said, rooting through my bag.
“As appetizing as that sounds, I was planning on hitting Subway, wanna come with?”, Jeremy asked shyly.
I didn't really know what to say to him. He just looked so hopeful and kind that it would destroy me to say no to him. I was a teensy bit worried about how Khas would respond to this though.
“It’s cool if you don't want to”, he said, a sad look washing over his face.
“No, I want to go.”, I said quickly. I stuffed my phone into my bag and we made our way to Subway. Just as we got off campus, I saw Khas.
He was hanging out with a couple of his jock friends and at first looked pleased to see me but grimaced as soon as he spotted Jeremy.
“Hi there”, he said me, offering a little wave to me.
“I was thinking we could grab some sushi?”. “My treat”, Khas said excitedly to me.
“Oh, actually I had plans with Jeremy. I’m really sorry, Khas.”, I said, I anxiously twisted my braid and bit my lip, preparing me for any onslaught of words.
I watched as Khas’s face turned a shade of red hot anger and then back to his usual cool, calm and confident self.
“Of course”, Khas said, a tight smile adorning his face. “ I'll see you soon.”, he told me and promptly walked away.
*
It was a day after the ‘Subway’ incident and I still hadn’t heard from Khas. I lay curled up on my bed, cradling my phone in my hands.
No new messages flashed on my screen for the umpteenth time. I scrolled through my Instagram feed idly and checked my dms once more. I had about 19 unanswered dms but I didn't feel like responding to any of them.
Where was Khas, I thought.
I sighed and lay on my stomach, I flipped through my AP Biology book for some time when finally, my phone lit up. I lunged for it only to discover it was Jeremy.
“Hey”, I said uninterested. “He still hasn't called, huh”, Jeremy asked. “Nope”, I said.
A beat passed and he said, “I'm sure he’ll call, you better focus on your big AP test tomorrow”.
“Yeah”, I said, annoyed. “I'll go prep some more, bye”, I told Jeremy and hung up.
I didn't mean to be rude but Jeremy was part of the reason Khas was acting stern with me.
I sighed once more and opened my Snapchat. A tiny ray of hope enveloped me when I saw that Khas had storied something.
Maybe he sent me a snap, I thought excitedly.
I went to my chats only to discover that he hadn’t sent me a snap which made it official. I was being given the silent treatment.
*
I walked out of my test centre with a dopey grin across my face. I was pretty sure that I aced that exam. Unfortunately, my joy was short lived.
As I made my way across the parking lot, my phone began to ring. Jeremy, the caller ID flashed to reveal.
“Hey, Jeremy”! GUESS WHAT?”,I screamed into the phone.
“Um.”, he said, unsure of what to make of my outburst, “Your test went well?”, he asked apprehensively.
“That’s the understatement of the century.”, I said and smirked. “Okay, okay. Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”, he said.
“Anyways, I called because I was heading over to the library to prep for French, if you aren't
doing anything after your big lunch, maybe you could join me?”, Jeremy asked tentatively.
My heart dropped to my stomach. Khas was supposed to take me out for a celebratory lunch. The cause of celebration being completion of all my APs.
But Khas hadn't texted, picked up my calls or bothered to acknowledge me these past two days. Was he just going to bail?
I fiddled with my bag strap and anxiously checked my phone, seeing no update from Khas, a fizzle of anger sparked through me and I practically screamed into the mouthpiece, “I’m coming there right now”.
*
I woke up with a jolt. It was another dreadful Monday morning. I dragged myself to my closet and rifled through my clothes.
“Too tight”, I said , holding up a pair of old jeans.
“Too baggy”, I said , holding up a pair of saggy, washed up jeans. “Too skanky”, I said, holding a tight miniskirt.
“Oh my God, why don't I have any clothes”, I moaned out loud. I gave myself a once over in the mirror. On second thought, this isn't too bad, I thought to myself.
I grabbed my keys off the counter and dashed to my car and drove hastily to school.
It was a rainy day, all my windows were fogged up and the roads were slippery. It was as though this was a premonition for something bad.
When I finally reached the school’s parking lot, I saw a tired, mopey Khas waiting at the curb. I got out of the car and walked over to him.
When he saw me approaching him, I could feel his gaze tighten, his pulse quicken and his fist clench. I offered him a weak smile.
“Where were you yesterday?”, he demanded. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he was going to go into a murderous rage.
“I waited at that cafe for over two hours. I got you a bouquet of flowers and an apology letter. I reduced my time at the art studio just so I could meet you. And you know where you had been at that time? With your new lover boy, Jeremy”, he spat. As he said the word ‘Jeremy’, tears rushed down his cheeks. He turned on his heel and walked off furiously. I hurried after him, desperate to make amends.
“Khas, wait, I can explain.”, I said as tears flowed down my cheeks. I tried to swallow the huge lump in my throat but I couldn't. My head was throbbing and I felt as though I was falling into a deep abyss of despair.
The tears flowed down faster now. I wailed and let out a cry that attracted the attention of some students in the lot. Embarrassed, I collected myself and made my way back to my car. No way was I going to go to school today. I had to get away from here.
With teary eyes and jerky hands, I put the keys into ignition. I kept getting the feeling that someone was saying my name repeatedly but I couldn't see as my vision was all fogged up. I figured it was just my head acting up.
Just as I started the car and moved a bit ahead, the car lurched to a halt and hit something with a huge thud. I heard a groan and gasped when I realized that I had hit someone. When I took a closer look, I let out a blood curdling scream.
Funny how come the last time I would see him was in the same place I first saw him.
Chapter 7
“No.” “ No.” “NOOOOOOO.”
I sat in the parking lot cradling his head. His dark blood was stained my hands. Tears blurred my eyes.
“Somebody call the ambulance .”,I begged the shocked crowd.
The next hour was a blur. An ambulance rushed in and carried him away to the hospital.
I had asked to come, but the medic said that I would be distracting and that I shouldn't leave my car in the school parking.
That's just a polite way of saying “We don’t want you bawling in the background”, I thought bitterly.
I got back into my car and cried there till I ran out of tears. My empty heart ached and I could feel it shattering bit by bit.
When I felt like I could drive without killing the someone else, I drove to Kaiser Hospital. I saw Khas’s dad there. His face was streaked with tears and his eyes were red and swollen.
Before I could tell him what happened, he hugged me and said in a voice that shattered my already broken heart, “I can't bear it. First Khas’s mom and now him. All I ever wanted was to see him happy. And now…”, he broke off, his voice choked with tears as he spoke.
I couldn't tell him what happened, what I had done. It was too much to comprehend. I didn't want to address that thought. I wanted to push that memory in a dark corner and pretend it never happened.
When he recovered, Khas’s dad said, “The nurses at the ER said that you were there. What happened?”
My heart was in my throat. I knew that I shouldn’t lie, but the words came to my lips as easily as breathing.
“There was an accident. A car hit him and… when he fell his head hit the fire hydrant and…”, I broke off, unable to lie any longer to the poor, sweet broken-hearted man before me.
“Who was driving?”,he asked. His tone was sharp, anger singing through all the grief, like lightning among dark, thundering clouds
“I…”,I started, unable to think of something to say. A flurry of words I couldn’t bring myself to speak flashed through my head. I was. I did it. I may have killed your son.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see who it was.”, I said instead. “Can I… Can see him?”
Khas’s dad looked at me, anger fading from his eyes. “Of course. Of course.”,he said, softly. When I turned away, I heard him calling my name.
“Yeah?”, I said, suddenly scared. “He really loved you.”
“I know.”,I said.
Almost impossibly, my broken heart broke again, tearing me apart. Only a miracle, one called Khas Peters , could save me now.
Chapter 8
I anxiously walked into the ICU. It was where Khas was being kept.
I kept twisting my braid to keep my hands from shaking as I entered the room.
“Okay, so only two visitors are allowed to visit him at a time.”, said the nurse. “He’s stable for now but we don’t want to disrupt the healing process, do we?”, she said and left the room.
I sat on the stool beside Khas’s bed and watched him breath. He had a slow, steady breathing pattern. I watched as his strong diaphragm relaxed and contracted and I couldn't take it anymore.
I ran out of the ICU, my eyes brimming with tears.
It was just so surreal to watch. I remember mentally vowing that I would hurt anyone who tried to hurt Khas. Funny thing is, this incident is killing me.
I tore through the hallways looking for the nurse I had seen in Khas’s room.
When I saw her, I seized her and begged me to tell her if Khas was going to be okay.
She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “Look, honey, I’m going to be honest with you.He isn't going to make it. He has severe traumatic brain injury and lost a lot of blood. Best case scenario, he makes it through the week.”, she finished.
She offered me a weak smile as my entire world came crashing down. I left the hospital as soon as I could and made my way home which ironically was at the hospital.
The next morning I dreaded going to school. My head throbbed and my heart bled but my mom wasn't about to have any of that.
“Sweetheart, I know Khas was your dearest friend but you can't miss out on school just because of him. I'll let you visit him everyday if you go to school and be a tad bit mentally healthy.”, she said.
My dad handed me my bag and kissed me goodbye.
“Don’t worry, we’ll catch the culprit”, he whispered into my ear.
This made my blood run cold but instead of saying anything I just nodded.
I drove myself to school as cautiously as possible. I couldn't bare to park my car in the same parking lot I had destroyed Khas in. So, I parked my car all the way across the street and paid the parking meter a good amount.
I ran briskly to school, my hands in my pockets. As I entered the school, I could feel its appearance altered. It was gloomy and people kept offering me emphatic stares as I walked by.
“I am going to kill whoever messed with Khas. I swear it.”, some jock told me. His eyes were red and puffy. I slammed my locker door shut, ignoring all the condolences and sympathy from Khas’s jock friends. I hurried away, tears blurring my eyes and ran out onto the field.
Complete hopelessness seeped into my heart. Or whatever was left of it.
Everything around me lost its charm. The sweet chirping of the birds sounded like a blaring siren. Even the sweet fragrance of flowers seemed to have the foul, cloying smell of death clinging about it. School lost its excitement, home lost its comfort and life lost its meaning.
Everyone where I went without him was a struggle, I felt like I was trapped in a deep abyss of despair. I felt like a roller coaster only going down.
I no longer took delight in anything that I did. I hated talking to people. The feelings that I felt was incomprehensible , they were a dull ache that tried to fill the empty space where my heart once beat.
I knelt in the cool grass, and for the first time, I opened my eyes to my unchangeable fate. I tried to imagine a life without Khas in it.
All that came to mind was a vast emptiness of a life, a routine, an unending cycle of despair and self hatred that would go through, my mind from the moment I got up till I slept… only to have them follow me in my dreams.
The only thought that comforted me was that one day I would die. I would die and oblivion would envelope me. I would die, leaving behind a couple of ashes and many memories. I would die, and never dream again.
*
As I drove home from school, the guilt seemed to have consumed me even more. My thoughts were jumbled. I drove past a sketchy neighbourhood, a couple of convenience stores and a museum to get to the outskirts of town.
I got out of the car and looked around. The swiss knife that my father kept for protection on the floor. My mind was racing.
A tiny voice in my head spoke. “Just pick it up and put it through your heart. No more nightmares, no more guilt. Only the oblivion you crave.”
“Should I kill myself?”, asked my heart.
“Why would you kill yourself over a boy?”, retorted my rational mind.
“It's not just any boy, its the boy who gave my life meaning. The boy that I loved and who loved me.”, my heart responded.
“Well, then I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want you to kill yourself.”, my mind finished. “Pretty sure he didn't want to get run over by my car but here we are.”, my heart said.
Trying to ignore the tormenting voices in my head, I got back into my car and drove toward the hospital.
“Hi, I'm here to visit Khas.”, I told the receptionist.
“I'm sorry but we can't entertain any visitors for right now”, the receptionist said. I gaped at her.
“Wh-Why?”
“He’s in a critical condition right now. ”, she said and went back to typing on her computer. I waited in the waiting room.
I flicked through magazines and came across an ad about razors.
“Razors would do the trick, I need to wax anyway.”, my heart said.
“Not this again. We are not killing ourselves over a boy. Also, how would you kill yourself using a razor”, my brain said, outraged.
“Well, its sharp. That's a start.”, my heart said.
“Sharp, huh? That makes two out of three of us.”, my brain said. “Haha,how original.”
*
The next day, I had to haul myself out of bed to shut the alarm on my phone and go to school.
My phone was going off all the time, condolences over Khas, cheery, positive texts from Jeremy telling me that it'll get better, calls from the school's counsellor who was concerned about my ‘mental health’.
The huge lump in my throat hadn't gone away and despair hung over me like a thunder cloud . My palms were sweaty, my head was pounding and my body was revolting. This was it. It was the day Khas dies.
Every fibre in my body could feel it. I spent every waking moment thinking about what I should do and it came to me. I fingered the Swiss knife that sat on my desk and put in in my bag.
I grabbed my car keys and drove to the hospital where Khas was being kept.
I ran past the lobby and ran around to find Khas's nurse. I grabbed her by her hand and asked her, “Is today the day?”.
She looked at me tenderly and took my hands in hers and nodded slowly.
“It's worsened. It could happen anytime now”., she said. She led me to the ICU where Khas was being kept.
I took a long, hard look at him.
I took in his once tan and muscular body that had now turned pale and weak. I took in his once animated eyes that had now turned cheerless.
I took in the cup of sorrowness that he now drank from. The nurse gave me some privacy when she left the room. I walked over to Khas and lightly ran my hand over his. “Hi, Khas. Remember me?”
“You used to playfully call me the girl who almost killed you.”, I said as tears flowed down my sullen cheeks.
“The irony,huh.”, I remarked.
A beat passed.
“Well, remember that story you highlighted?”
“The story where the girl kills herself and the lovers souls meet in heaven”?, I ask in a futile attempt to get him to talk.
Even though he was in a coma for about a week now. “Wasn't that your greatest fear when it came to love?”,I asked.
“Well, you don't have to worry. I'll be there. My soul will ride up with yours.”, I told him.
I sat there,holding his hand, waiting in that chair, waiting for Khas Peters to die, so that I could dive into oblivion as well.
Chapter 9
I sat on the stool for hours, my mind a jumble of thoughts.
I planned to send ‘I love you’ texts to my family and friends. I arranged it in such a way that all I had to do was press ‘send’ before my doing and it would reach everybody.
I was gripping the gruesome scalpel that I planned on ending my life with, with all my might. I suddenly glanced at the vital signs monitor out of curiosity and that’s when it happened.
His body temperature vital dropped sharply and an alarm started blaring, this was shortly
accompanied by a flashing light on the monitor and the arrival of a nurse.
She looked at me helplessly. “He's dropping, it's the end.”, she said, solemnly.
“This is just the beginning.”, I said. I sent the mass text and closed my eyes. I plunged the Swiss Knife into my heart and felt a gush of blood followed by a pang of pain. My eyesight was dimming and the world around me was spinning. All I could see was the nurse , frantically moving her arms around and her voice, calling for help, steadily growing fainter.
My life flashed before my eyes. A series of memories made their way in my mind's eye: An image of a 4 year old me played in my head.
“Daddy,catch me.”, I said as I giggled and ran around my garden. I remembered that day vividly, it was my earliest recollection of my past. I had been immensely happy that day. My parents and I played in the garden and then they surprised me with tickets to Disney World.
Then an image of my first day of my school played in my head. I was bawling my eyes out and refusing to leave my parents.
“I don't wanna go.”, I huffed and screamed(pretty impressive vocabulary for a 5 year old). I wailed and kicked and complained but I gave in and went grumpily.
Like a slideshow, the next clip played in my head.
It was my 7th birthday party and I flashed a toothy grin at everyone because my milk tooth just fell out. I kept giggling and telling everyone about how ‘gruesome’ that experience was.
Then there was 13 year old me.
It was day I first got dumped. I was crying that entire day in school and I remember how Jeff Day had ridiculed me saying that it was the first of many dumps , and my best friend at the time, Rosie had punched the lights out of him. I remember gleefully getting on the school bus that day.
The next memory was meeting Khas by nearly ramming into him. I involuntarily winced at the sight of him. My weak heart lurched. His face came into view and I saw myself in third person. I saw myself looking at him as he went into the school building.
After that, an image of Khas and I at the planetarium flashed in my head. The day of our first date, I thought miserably. I could still smell his cologne and feel his lips on mine and the softness of the tendrils of his hair.
The last, gruesome image that flashed before my eyes, the day I rammed my car into Khas Peters. The last day of fully functional Khas Peters.
And then nothing. Silence fell and darkness enveloped me.
I’m coming Khas. I thought. My last thought. We’ll be together now.
Forever.
The final chapter
The darkness and silence lasted only a few moments, accompanied by pain, the pain of my soul caged in my lifeless body. Then I felt a sort of painless disconnect. I watched with eerie calmness as I floated up to the top of the room while my body lay prostrate on the floor, surrounded by doctors and nurses.
“She’s gone.”,a doctor said, holding my limp wrist. “Call the time of death.” “Four-twenty.”,a nurse said, jotting it down.
I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I was floating up and away. I floated through the ceiling, through the various rooms, through the roof. I was rising with increasing rapidity… until I burst through the clouds. A thick mist surrounded me. I began to feel lost. I looked around. Silence. For the first time since my death, I began to panic.
Suddenly a beam of blinding light cut through the mist. A familiar voice called out my name. Khas Peters stepped forward. “What happened? Why are you here?”
“You died and I couldn't live on without you.”, I said.
His eyes widened. “So, what does that mean?”, he asked. He frowned at me. “Wait. Are you saying that you killed yourself because of me? Why would you do that?”
“What do you mean ‘Why would I do that?’?”. I was starting to lose my temper. “I did it so we could be together. You’re the love of my life.”
Just then a pretty girl, with big blue eyes and long hair approached us. “Khas!”,she screamed running towards us. “There you are.”. She didn’t seem to notice me. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Khas put his arms around her and kissed her back. I stood gaping at them. Khas seemed to have forgotten about me, staring tenderly into the girl’s eyes and gently brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.
Only then did he seem to notice me. He pulled himself from her grasp and looked at me, his face red with embarrassment. The girl squinted at me.
“Um… I...”,he started. “This is my girlfriend.”
I thought he was referring to me, but he was talking to me and gesturing towards the girl. “Hi!”,she said cheerfully. “I’m Stacy. Khas has told me a lot about you.”
I turned to Khas. “Stacy, can you leave us alone? I want to talk to her.”,he said. “Okay.”,she said, giving Khas a quick peck on his cheek before leaving.
“Your girlfriend?”,I said after she left. “Did you really throw our relationship away for someone you met an hour ago?”
“I-”.Khas took a deep breath. “I met her a month ago. Time works differently here. When I met her I realised that I wasn’t in love with you.
Don’t get me wrong.”,he added quickly. “I love you, just not in the way you think I do. You’re a wonderful friend.”
I was crying bitterly now. Every word cut through me like a knife. I felt like I was dying all over again. “But-But…”
“Listen. She’s my soulmate. You said it yourself. I was the love of your life, not your soulmate. There’s someone for you too, you’ll know when you see him, just like I did.”
And just like that he walked out of my life as quickly as he came into my life.
Epilogue
The girl who almost killed me? Ironic much?
It all came to me at once, the day when khas overreacted on seeing the aunt my bag gave me as a good omen, the highlighted text of the Hartz mountain story. It hit me like a ton of bricks and my head was a whirlwind of thoughts. So much for plunging into oblivion.
I groped my way to a corner and sat over there for a long time and had a good cry. I felt my salty tears making their way down to my chin and my lips become a thin, straight line and collapsed into a trembling mass of unhappiness.
“What was the point of all this?”, I screamed.
At that point, I hated myself more than ever. I wanted to get as far away as possible from myself but the darkness in me always followed me in the form of my shadow.
I looked at myself in a huge mirror. I had a good look at myself.
This vulnerable, confused girl who gave up. This imperfect creature that craved affection and love. Then why couldn't I just love myself?
Why can't we all just love ourselves?
So what if we aren't perfect? Isn't that what draws us to other people? Isn't that what drew me to Khas? The black rose?
Those stretch marks that our moms hate? Don't they remind them of the little miracle they made?
That tiny gap between your teeth? Doesn't that make your smile a little sweeter and lovable?
That quirk of yours that you positively hate? Doesn't that make playful banter among your friends?
Love yourself because if you don't love you, then who will?
Just wish I'd known that a little while ago…
Maybe I'd still be alive then.
It's not too late for you though.
.
Liza Stanaland is a novelist and freelance content editor specializing in the speculative fiction genre including fantasy, science fantasy, dystopian fiction, and supernatural fiction. She briefly spent time as a musician but became enamored with writing at a young age. She is an avid reader, movie buff, and music aficionado. Liza is graduating with her Bachelor of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at Full Sail University. She has three kids, an English Mastiff, a Malti-poo, and nine chickens. |
The Interrogator
Garrett followed me for days. I knew he was there. My senses were abnormally alert the past few weeks. He smelled like death and rotten carcasses. When he showed up at the hotel where I lived, he hadn’t realized I’d set a trap just for him.
I accidentally left the door open a bit and turned the shower on, then sprayed perfume all over the room to disguise my scent. I hid in the closet knowing Garrett would walk past it toward the bathroom. I heard his footsteps as he crept by and popped him once on the head with the butt of my .45. He went down cold.
“And you’re supposed to be the tough one,” I giggled.
I injected him with a supernatural-grade anesthetic to keep him asleep and restrained him with steel shackles and cuffs.
Garrett was a ghoul: a nasty, rotten-human scavenger. Most couldn’t tell the difference between humans and ghouls unless they knew the person. It’s what made the world a bit harder to navigate now that they’d come out of hiding. Their features changed, somewhat. They looked harder, more worn in a way. Ghouls were as intelligent as humans but were immortal and lived on human flesh. The one noticeable difference was their green eyes: muddy, murky green.
A year ago, Kris turned ghoul. Two weeks later my best friend and I found my parents with their hearts ripped out. Ian was the one constant in my life. We’d been friends since we were kids, his blond curls and Big-Wheel and me with my long legs, scraped up knees, and ponytail. I was still all legs and had that ponytail but was twenty years older.
Six ghouls had come for me over time. They gave me a choice: turn or die. I refused to do either and, instead, decided to get information from them to find my brother. The last ghoul had almost gotten the drop on me, but Ian showed up after a premonition he’d had of me dying. We realized that making changes to my routine was imperative if I wanted to find Kris. He was the only family I had left in this world. I didn’t love him any less because he was a ghoul.
Those weren’t the only ghouls I’d had to contend with, however. Folks paid me to find their loved ones: alive, undead, dead, or really dead. Most people tend to get a little upset when their newly-deceased family members go missing from their graves.
Ian had explained that humans could change by feeding them bits of ghoul flesh every few hours over several days. Everything I knew about ghouls I'd learned alongside Ian. I’m not sure I would have lived this long without him.
Ian was a Psi…Psychic Vampire. They were rare, and Ian was rarer still: he was born, not made. He only needed energy to survive, no blood, but he was immortal. Ian could read minds and had premonitions. Psi abilities were as unique as human DNA. The only exception was the eyes. They turned bright blue when feeding off human energy, getting angry, or using supernatural powers. They called it “the shine.” All Psi were different, but Ian was the best.
Now that I had Garrett, I silently thanked Ian and went to find a luggage cart. I loaded Garrett onto the cart and rolled him out to my Jeep. He was a big guy but unusually light. I didn’t even break a sweat loading him up. After climbing in the front seat of my Jeep, I texted Ian, then drove to the interrogation site.
I pulled up to the detached garage that sat next to my parents’ house. It was hard going out there after they died, but it gave me the fire I needed to get the job done. I opened the door and was hit by a smell that was a mix between Valvoline 10W30 and GOJO hand cleaner. My dad's old workshop was now my interrogation room.
I set my keys down, grabbed the gurney, and rolled it out to my Jeep. Garrett was still knocked out, but I didn’t want to take any chances, so I restrained his right arm and leg before removing the shackles and cuffs. Once his left side was secured, I pushed him into the garage next to a stainless-steel table holding a mini-fridge and a cabinet stocked with supplies, cigarettes, and liquor. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I was getting antsy, so I uncorked a bottle of Pendleton and lit up a smoke.
I waited for over an hour, chain-smoking my Kamel cigarettes, occasionally sipping from the bottle of whiskey I held as I paced. It was going to take a lot more than sips and cigarettes to get through this night, so I upended the bottle. Some of it ran down my chin, and I wiped it away with my sleeve.
I peered at Garrett. The knot that had formed where I’d popped him with my gun had almost disappeared. This guy was old. Not old in human years, but he wasn’t a spring chicken in ghoul years by far. His hair was dirt brown, and his nose looked like it had been broken one too many times.
"You really are one ugly sonofabitch," I said, cramming a washcloth in his mouth and then duct taping it. He would wake up soon. When my Psi arrived, I would start the interrogation.
My phone buzzed loudly and skirted around on the table. I set the bottle down and pressed the button to answer on speaker.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“On my way. I had to do something first. Be there in five,” Ian said.
I ended the call and looked over at my captive; the hunter captured by the prey once again. I pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it, never taking my eyes off Garrett, then took another swig of whiskey. I didn’t enjoy my interrogation techniques, per say, but I did enjoy the results. Every ghoul got me one step closer to finding Kris; killing them was a bonus. I didn’t want to kill Kris. He was my baby brother. My one weakness. I would do anything I could to save him even if that meant both of us dying.
I bent down closer to Garrett and flicked him in the nose. He was out. I put my cigarette out as Ian’s headlights reflected on the wall, then walked to the door smiling.
Ian and I were like night and day. I was olive toned with dark brown hair, and he was blonde with light skin and the softest blue eyes. My heart always fluttered a bit when I looked at him.
“You’re late…again. I’m gonna have to start docking your pay,” I said as I opened it.
“Humph,” Ian said, “then I suggest you find yourself another Psi.”
He kissed me on the cheek and followed me into the room. Ian put something in the fridge and turned on his laptop.
I grabbed a bottle of cold water.
“Okay, Garrett. Rise and shine!”
As I poured it over his nose, he opened his eyes and growled through the washcloth and duct tape.
I pulled an empty syringe and a leather pouch with wire cutters, a saw, and a propane torch from the cabinet. I never used the torch and saw if I could help it. Ghoul blood smells terrible enough when clipping off digits. Sawing off body parts or burning them is even worse. That smell doesn’t come out of clothes or nose hair for weeks.
I reached in the fridge and grabbed two full syringes, each equipped with a needle, and a vial of fresh blood. Garrett’s eyes popped open wide when he saw what I laid out on the table next to him. I drew the blood into the empty syringe and placed it next to the others. The ghoul community thought they knew my tricks. Since all they had was a body and no one lived to tell about it, it was all speculation. They'd dubbed me "The Interrogator."
I used to be a nurse and loved chemistry. The first ghoul that came was my test subject. We tried everything on him. I'd taken Ian's blood and combined it with mercury that I found in an old thermometer my parents had. It only took one cc of Ian’s blood mixed with one cc of mercury and five ccs of holy water to take him down. It didn’t kill him, but he wished he was dead. Alone, Psi blood acted as anesthesia.
Later, I’d figured out that five ccs of fresh human blood would kill them instantly. Ghouls could only eat humans who were over twenty-four hours dead. Anything newer would kill them.
There was always the bottom of the barrel grave robbers: ghouls that either didn’t want to kill people or didn't have the smarts to. However, the rest would whack a human and let them sit until rigor mortis stopped. That usually happened around the fifty-four-hour mark, but from what I’d found during my search for folks’ family members, those nasty ass ghouls let them sit for closer to seventy-two. I guess they liked their human steaks marinated in disgusting a bit more.
I only used the fresh blood at the end of the interrogations. I needed information; ghouls needed to die. They weren't trying to protect their anonymity anymore. I didn't understand their reasoning. Eventually humans would die out, and ghouls would have nothing to eat, but apparently, someone was a bit power-hungry, and I had the head guy on the gurney right in front of me.
I glanced at Garret, not sure if it was sweat or water that poured down his face, but the tape was falling off his mouth.
“Here, let me fix that,” I said.
He spat out the washcloth.
“Wait—” Garrett started.
Ghouls became pretty feral when they knew they could die. The fight or flight instinct was strong with this one.
“No, no. None of that,” I said, shaking my finger at Garrett.
Ian’s laptop dinged, and he glanced at the ghoul. “I’m surprised you still have to go through all this. They should line up at your door, tell you what they know, and kill themselves."
I laughed, shoving the washcloth back in Garrett's mouth and re-taping it. I reached in Garrett’s pocket and handed Ian his phone. Ghouls were smart as hell, even the ancient ones. They’d learned technology just as well or better than humans. However, they didn’t count on my Psi being such a tech-geek.
“Just get to it,” I said.
“GPS is a wonderful invention,” Ian smiled.
I grabbed the whiskey and downed more, then turned and pointed the bottle at the ghoul.
"So, here's what's gonna happen. I’m gonna ask you yes or no questions. If you answer honestly, I won’t hurt you. If you lie, Ian will tell me, and then I’ll hurt you bit-by-bit. You’re gonna die, but it’s up to you how fast or slow that happens. And please, don’t make it slow. Ian’s a bit squeamish.”
Garrett stared at me, resolve in his eyes.
I crossed my arms. “You know where my brother is?”
He looked at me, cold eyes piercing my soul.
"Oh. You don't want to answer? Okay." I picked up the wire cutters and tapped them on Garrett's nose. "Hmmm, I think we'll go with the thumbs. They’re pretty useful, and it's fun to make you think about all-the-little-things-you-can’t-do-without-them,” I cooed.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Dramatic much?”
I cut my eyes at Ian, half amused, half irritated. I was a bit dramatic, but I’d learned that the mind is a powerful thing. If I mess with their heads enough, I don’t always have to do the dirty stuff.
Garrett flailed, rocking the gurney.
“Funny. You still think you’re going to get away.”
I grabbed his left hand and clipped off his thumb. Garrett screamed, his agony muffled by the cloth and tape.
“Now, before I get to the right hand, are you sure you don’t want to answer?”
Garrett's face flushed and sweat poured from his forehead. He wasn't going to give in easily, so I skipped around the gurney and clipped off his right thumb. He squeezed his eyes closed but didn’t make a sound. Blood dripped from his hands. It stank like death.
"I don't think dismemberment is gonna work with this one," Ian said.
He had turned an awful shade of grey, and I knew he was about to need one of the trusty barf bags I kept for him.
“Open the cabinet, Ian. There’s a fresh pack of bags for you in there.”
He made the mistake of turning to look at me and gave it up right there in the garbage can.
“You’re cleaning that up,” I said.
He lifted his head and looked at me through watery eyes.
"Oh sure, you'll chop off body parts all day long but no way you're going near vomit," he said, and then another wave of nausea hit him.
"I clean up my own messes,” I said. “I pay you to get information, not give up your lunch.”
I glanced at Garrett’s thumbs. They were already growing back. Ghouls regenerated body parts faster with recent meals. I stifled a shiver as I imagined him snacking on a “person-pop.” He was watching me like a hawk, and I refused to show any weakness.
I grabbed a syringe and held it to the light.
“See how pretty this is? It’s what I like to call a neurological cocktail.”
I showed him the syringe and popped the cap with my thumb. It landed on his chest, so I brushed it off.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to drop that there,” I said, smiling sweetly.
His eyes followed the syringe. He seemed more interested than fearful. I turned to check Ian's progress.
“I’m getting there,” Ian said.
I turned back to Garrett.
“Those little blobs are Psi blood and mercury in holy water. Cool how when the two combine they make this blue color, huh?”
I held the syringe to his face. His eyes crossed as he tried to focus on it.
“Mercury causes neurological problems. Psi blood keeps it in the system longer. It won’t kill you because you’re a ghoul, but it’ll hurt like hell for about twenty minutes: muscles seize up, no control over your body, and then you just jerk a bit.”
Garrett quickly looked from me to the syringe. I was getting to him.
“Well, are you ready to tell me where my brother is?”
He looked up at the ceiling.
“Okay then.”
As soon as I jabbed the needle in his thigh and injected the cocktail, he started convulsing. I sat down, lit a cigarette and drank the rest of the whiskey.
“Do you—”
“Almost!” Ian growled.
“Sometimes, your Psi-ness, you drive me crazy with that mind reading shit.”
Ian laughed.
I finished two more cigarettes and opened another bottle of Pendleton before Garrett's convulsions slowed. Ian smacked his hand down on the table.
“Found it!”
“And what exactly did you find?” I looked at his screen.
"The GPS location he came from today. As long as nothing has changed, this is where we can find them. However, if I'm using his GPS, they're probably doing the same thing."
Ian disabled the GPS and looked up at me.
“Get what you can.”
I grabbed the second syringe and took the last drag off my cigarette before putting it out. I leaned over Garrett and blew the smoke in his face. He was pale and clammy now. That meal he’d eaten had burned off. The neurological cocktail saw to that. It was time to get serious.
I placed my elbows on his chest, resting my chin on my hand.
"Look, dude, I don't want to use this on you. It’s not fun for either of us. Arsenic and holy water...yikes."
I twirled the syringe in my fingers.
“It’s aptly named Number Two because you’ll lose everything in your gut, mouth to rear. Hurts like he—"
Ian grabbed my arm and yanked me off Garrett.
“Kate, we’ve got a visitor.”
I turned around just as my brother walked in the door and depressed the plunger, spilling my only defense right there on the floor. My instincts kicked in and I backed away from the gurney. It was weird to see his soft features and dark eyes muddled with the harshness of a ghoul’s.
“Hey, Kate. Bossman tell you anything?" Kris asked.
He walked around the gurney releasing Garrett’s restraints, never taking his eyes off me.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“I just…I didn’t expect you.”
Kris placed a hand on Garrett’s chest then walked over to me. Ian scrambled to the fridge. He was trying to get a syringe...any syringe.
I'd spent the last year trying to find my brother. Now he was here, and his eyes weren't the only difference. I froze as Kris walked toward me. He grabbed my neck and shoved me against the wall knocking the breath out of me.
Garrett jumped off the gurney and hesitated. I saw Ian nod just as Garrett threw a right hook. Ian dropped the syringe of blood and fell into Garrett's chest.
The grip on my neck became too much to ignore. I focused on Kris, and a tear escaped from my eye. He watched it run down my face and onto the hand he had wrapped around my throat.
“Tears? Come on, Kate. Have you gone soft on me?”
I couldn’t respond, so I narrowed my eyes at him and kneed him in the nuts. Ghoul or not, that shit hurt. Kris bent down but didn’t let go of my throat.
Bursts of lights shown in my eyes as everything started to go black. I fell to the ground, and Kris lost his hold. Ian had knocked him away from me. I stood up and saw Ian's eyes shine bright blue. He was having a premonition.
“Ian, stop!” I hissed. “This is not the time for that.”
I heard the gurney fall over and a body hit the concrete. We both turned and saw Kris standing over Garrett, the needle of the syringe planted firmly in his neck and the plunger depressed.
“Well, that’s over. Now I can take care of you two,” Kris said.
He wore a wicked grin as he stepped toward us.
“See, Kate…Garrett was a mess of a leader. Can you believe that asshole was two thousand years old? Weak…just weak. He refused to kill you. Said it was more important to keep our anonymity instead of taking what was rightfully ours.”
Ian pulled me back with every step Kris took forward.
"I put the hits out on you. You're good; I'll give you that. I sent some of the best. When I heard Garrett was coming to talk to you, I decided to sit back and wait. I knew you’d think he’d decided to come for you himself. Truth is, he was on your side.”
I cut my eyes at Ian. He was calm, but his brow was furrowed. Kris took another step, and Ian pulled me back. My heart was racing. My brother, my baby brother was trying to kill me.
“He’s lying, right? Tell me he’s lying,” I whispered.
“Trust me,” Ian whispered and pulled my hand to back me up a step.
Ian knew something.
“So…you killed Garrett to take his place? To fully out ghouls?” I asked.
“Well, yeah. After I got rid of Mom and Dad and you decided to start interrogating,” he said using air quotes, “I knew I had to do something about you. Garrett didn't want to see my point of view. The ancients don't have the same views we do.”
I lunged at Kris. Ian gripped my waist.
“You! You killed our parents?”
“Hey,” Kris said putting his hands up, “I gave them a choice. They said they’d rather die, and Kate would, too. Good ol’ Kate. The perfect child, always up on that pedestal. I showed them, though. I expected you to be home when I came but you were out running around, being…Kate. I left you their bodies as a present. I wanted a snack, so I took their hearts for later.”
Kris took another step. I was so pissed my body was vibrating. I felt a sting in my eyes. Everything began to have a blueish hue to it. The look on Kris’ face was all shock. He knew my secret now. He saw the shine. It was no holds barred.
“After the last ghoul, Ian and I talked about my human weaknesses. I didn’t want to be immortal. They seem to have twice the targets on their backs.”
I tugged my hand out of Ian’s and crossed my arms at my chest. I had nothing on me and only my ability to flash to defend myself. After everything I’d gone through to save Kris, he was the target all along.
"I figured I already had a massive target on my back, so why not? But there was no way I would ever be a ghoul, so I accepted Ian's offer. He turned me into a Psi.”
I felt a gust of wind as Ian flashed past me, catching Kris off-guard, and shouldering him right in the chest. Kris wasn't expecting two against one; I wasn't sure if I could kill him.
Taking me by surprise, Garrett stood and made his way to Ian, a syringe of blood in his hand. Ian looked at me and jerked his head toward Kris. It was a set-up, and I wasn't the only one in the dark. I knew what had to happen. I only had one choice.
In one swift movement Ian spun Kris around, Garrett threw the syringe, needle deep, into Kris' chest, and I flashed to Kris. I held his face with my hands; Garrett and Ian were restraining his arms.
“Before tonight, I would have died to protect you. It’s fitting that we’re in our parents’ home. I wanted to save you. You are my blood. Now, you’re just a power-hungry murderer with an agenda.”
I let go of his face and looked away as I depressed the plunger. My brother, my only family left in the world, sank to the ground and died instantly. I dropped with him.
I flinched as Garrett patted me on the shoulder. He looked at Ian.
“How did you know what he would do?”
Ian pointed to his head.
"Psychic, remember? I dropped the syringe of my blood on the floor when you punched me. There was just enough in there to knock you out for a bit. He thought it was human blood, but I gave that to you, then I stalled.”
I sat there with Kris’ head in my lap patting his hair. The whole reason I did all of this over the past year was for him. I didn’t have a purpose anymore.
“He didn’t leave me a choice,” I said.
“I am so very sorry it came to this. It is not what I wanted,” Garrett said.
I nodded my head but didn’t look at him.
“Me either,” I said as tears escaped my eyes.
Ian sat down and wrapped me in his arms. I lay my head on his shoulder and cried. I heard Garrett leave, the door quietly shut behind him. I didn’t go after him.
“Hey,” Ian said, “I’m your purpose now. You’ve always been mine.”
I sagged into Ian’s chest and cried even harder. As awful as tonight was, I knew he'd never let me go. Ian would always be there; he always had been. No matter what I decided for the future, I'd have him forever. Rethinking ghouls was the first thing on my list, but for now, I was tired.
ADVENTURE
Ally stood on the side of the dusty road, her thumb out, hoping to signal a ride. She had never hitch hiked before. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach with the anticipation, the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Despite her nerves, she relished in the freedom of believing there was nowhere she had to be, only where she wanted to be. Already, she felt as if she was no longer suffocating. The resonating sound of a truck’s engine revving down, it’s deep treaded tires crunching on the gravely, dry dirt pulled Ally from her thoughts. A well-kept truck rolled to a stop in front of her, the dust from the road giving the brilliant red paint a muted look. The driver, a burly bearded man, ten years her senior she guessed, with his black cap covering most of his brown, slightly greying hair rolled down the passenger side window and leaned towards her. “Where are you headed?” he asked in a husky voice. “As far as you’ll take me.” Ally answered confidently, hoping her voice wouldn’t portray her anxiety. He crooked his head, unlatching the passenger door, giving it a little shove. “Hop in.”
As Ally climbed in, he shifted away from her. The leather seat was warm under her as she slid in, her soft, cut-off jean shorts allowing most of her long legs to feel the heat. The cab of the truck smelled of tobacco, coffee, and the man’s piney cologne. The air conditioning blasting on her soft sun kissed skin felt refreshing after standing out in the heat for so long. The engine roared to life, and the man swerved into traffic. The driver and passenger didn’t talk, the only sound was from the radio, where country music flowed softly through the speakers. The lack of forced conversation was a blessing. Ally looked out through the open window, the rushing air blowing through her long blonde hair. The mix of cold air coming from inside the truck, and the warm air from outside was relaxing. Tapping her Converse clad foot to the beat of the music, the scenery passed by like a scene from a movie.
Ally hadn’t realized she had drifted off, until the sound of the truck’s heavy door shutting woke her. They had pulled into a truck stop somewhere in Kansas, guessing from the license plates. The sky was orange and red as the sun set. Soon, the driver returned to his truck, and as he approached, he tipped his hat to her in farewell. She took the hint that it was the end of her ride. She climbed out of the cab, and watched as he drove away, his taillights growing smaller until she could no longer see them. Ally shouldered her bag and walk along the road as she sought out a new ride, this one to the nearest motel, where she could consider the next step in her journey.
THE FOOD UPON WHICH OTHERS FEAST
Two of our votaries perched thirty feet above the driveway in front of a limestone building constructed in 1868. Obadiah, the senior votary, impeccably attired in a dark blue suit, silk tie - the color of which befitted our calendar, and sunglasses, rested his hands on the polished railing. Ariel, young and eager to impress, hovered with his clipboard pressed into his gray sweater.
“Who are the two new witnesses?” Ariel looked at the older votary, bit off a piece of beef jerky, and waited for an answer.
“Take notes at the briefings the way I taught you and you’d know.” Obadiah smiled and looked down.
Ariel, by now used to such sarcasm, tapped his pen on the report form attached to his clip board. “Humor me.”
Obadiah shrugged and continued. “That first guy, the red-headed one, is Herb Peavy. He used to sneak into second-floor bedrooms and stomp women to death with his climbing spikes. It’s his second time here. He’d be at the North Center if the vanguards didn’t still have some use for him.” He waited for a moment. “Just watch him. All he wants to do is get close to that thin kid. If he were anywhere but here, he’d get detained for-“ Obadiah waited a second. “Following too close.” Laughed at his own joke.
“That thin guy looks like an eleven-year-old girl.” Ariel pulled his sweater over his belt buckle. “Hell, he looks like a-”
“Don’t say it. Do not say it. That’s Kenny Dumars. Just two months ago, he was a part-time wheat farmer and full-time high school Spanish teacher livin the dream. Even set-up housekeeping with his girlfriend. But the sheriff caught a Cessna unloading marijuana on his property. Ol’ Kenny boy had himself a third job - being paid for the use of his farm land.” Obadiah grinned, added, “Poor guy’ll be eaten alive in here,” then shook his head and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
“He ought’a have a good time in this place with Herb tailgating him.” Ariel watched the red-head smooth his hands over the thin kid’s shoulders. “What’da they want us to do with ‘em?”
“Well, Herb’s bound to do what he did the last time.” Obadiah adjusted his tie, nodded toward the driveway. “His only value to the vanguards is to see how Kenny reacts around him at the South Center. So, we are required to keep ‘em together after processing and watch what happens.”
When new witnesses arrived, we required they remain alone for a short period of time. Alone and unattended, but not unobserved, and, certainly not unrecorded. Their movements to be transcribed by votaries onto a checklist. Posture erect? Hunched over? Gesticulations made? People touched? Pockets reached into? Items extracted? Stepped out of line? Anything picked up? Rocks? Cigarette butts?
The witnesses stood as if transfixed. Blank stares. Clenched teeth, tight jaws. Minds working overtime. They stiffened as a scattershot wind hit their faces. Herb looked east toward the wide expanse of farmland and inhaled the scent of the harvest. Kenny stared at contrails swirling twenty-six thousand feet above. Both shuffled around on the gravel driveway their sounds alternated between crunching and hammering. Neither looked toward the North or South Centers.
Inside the South Center Processing and Orientation section a votary with a sore-knee limp walked toward the two witnesses, handed each a towel and small cup half-filled with delousing shampoo. “Well, Herb. I figured I’d see you again. What happened? You hear we got a new line of clothing?” He pointed at the open shower. “You know the drill. And keep it in your hair for a few minutes.”
Amid echoes of “Fresh meat,” and “Come over here and visit me,” Herb walked with his middle finger aloft. He abruptly shouted, “Looks like you’re working old three-pack pretty hard,” nodded toward the man laboring to stand - his left hand clasped three unopened packs of cigarettes, then hurriedly walked to his chair, lifted his pad and charcoal, resumed drawing.
Kenny held back until Herb returned, then clutched his towel where he thought it might do the most good, and, despite wet floors, rushed into the shower. He finished without drying, quickly headed back, and hurriedly dressed.
The votary handed each a paper bag and directed them to carry it in their right hand. “What you’ve got there is a toothbrush, toothpaste, and two hotel-sized bars of Ivory soap. Commissary takes ninety days to kick-in but most of you will be gone by then. So, other than your meals, that’s pretty much it.”
The votary raised his palm. “Ya’ll gonna be buried under the mass of senior witnesses. Just know that you have no rights here. Only privileges. The rest you gotta figure out on your own.” He looked at Kenny in his practiced manner. “Consider that your orientation.”
The votary knew Kenny was too frightened to remember what was said, but his perspective would change after the doors slammed. When it became apparent that he could never again open or close a door, walk from one room to another, chose when to eat, what to eat, where or when to sleep without first asking permission. When Kenny had the look of an animal that decided to stop running, we would know he had learned our Rules: Eyes down but stay alert - Don’t look but see everything –When you walk hug the wall but do not touch it – There are no gifts; accept anything and you are in debt. – Ask for permission before you do anything.
The votary led them into an area the size of a basketball court with a walkway surrounding a chain-link enclosure. He assigned both witnesses separate bunks within fifteen feet of two exposed toilets and one rust-stained sink. Then he repeated what he said each time, “Good luck. And don’t come back.” He locked the gate and walked away.
As Kenny waited in line that evening, his eyes moved from witness to witness. He watched how each held two utensils under a stainless-steel tray, and silently moved toward a wall opening, then placed the tray on a small ledge, and remained motionless as meat and green beans were plopped on it. After a half-pint carton of milk hit a tray, a voice barked, “Next”, and the line moved forward.
Kenny set his tray on a table near the stage. Herb pulled out a chair out, turned it slightly, dropped his tray next to Kenny. Herb looked at Kenny, “What’cha need from the commissary?” Then skimmed his tongue across his upper lip and moved his hand under Kenny’s. After a moment Herb raised his fingers slightly, pulled his hand back, and left a list of commissary items under Kenny’s palm. “I can get you ramen noodles, pens, paper, stamps, cigarettes, peanut butter, pretty much anything. What’cha want?”
“They told us we can’t use it for ninety-days.” Kenny moved his hand away.
Herb pushed a package of gum between their trays. “But I can. I’ve been here before.”
Silence.
“Why me?”
Herb stroked Kenny’s hand. “You’re my friend.”
Kenny leaned forward, gently raised his hand, gracefully rested it on the back of Herb’s head, and whispered.
Herb’s eyes flared. “We’ll see smart guy.” Then, contemplating his next move, said, “We’ll see how you’re taken care of from now on.” He grabbed Kenny’s half-pint of milk, shoved it into his coat sleeve, stood, left the package of gum on the table, and walked toward the stage and the line of witnesses waiting to be frisked.
A votary bent to frisk him – calves first, then thighs and hips. Herb, with a one-arm motion, slid the milk carton from coat sleeve to palm and onto the stage. When the votary found nothing, he turned to frisk another witness. Herb picked-up the milk carton, raised his arm, allowed the carton to drift inside his coat sleeve, cupped his hand, lowered his arm, and walked away.
An hour and a half later sounds and smells reverberated inside the enclosure. Toilets flushing or not flushing. Bodies unwashed for days. Scattered loud voices. Small groups talking, shuffling. Bunks creaking.
A votary wheeled in a console television. “This will remain on the channel it’s set to.” He paused. “That safety razor on top the t.v. has one blade.” He pointed to the razor. “You have one-half hour to shave,” he said to everyone. “When I return at eight o’clock, that razor will be right there.” He struck the top of the console with his knuckles. “With the razor blade next to it. If I see anything other than that, I will respond.” Tapped the console and left the enclosure.
Herb rose from his bunk with three other witnesses, walked up to Kenny, blinked slowly. “You busy?”
No reply.
“You too busy to spend some time with us?” Gestured toward his bunk, then pulled Kenny’s head closer, “You owe me.”
“The hell I-”
“Shut up. Shut the hell up. You owe me. I gave you something. And now you owe me. Don’t renege or I’ll make sure they yank your privileges. Send your ass down behind them damn white doors.” Within moments he laughed, raised his voice a decibel below a yell. “You want that? You wanna be b’hind them doors downstairs?”
The three witnesses from Herb’s bunk surrounded Kenny, then tightened their circle. Kenny’s head jerked back. Pain descended from eyes to mouth, then came guttural sounds, and he was on the floor in a fetal curl. He knew he was leaking – red or brown – but did not know which. One of the witnesses set a blade on top the television.
The next afternoon Kenny waited in yet another line of witnesses to be told what to do, where to go, yelled at about something, lined up to go somewhere or lined up to come back. It didn’t really matter. His knees ached, everything ached, and he was ashamed of the stains between the hip pockets of his jeans. Herb cut in. Within seconds Kenny was again encircled.
“You.” Herb spit on the floor. “You do not say ‘no’ to me.” When he signaled, the circle blended away, and Kenny was on the floor with blood on his shirt and darkening yesterday’s stains.
A votary meandered over. “Get off the floor.” He raised his voice. “Get over to the infirmary.”
We now knew Kenny had learned the Rules.
Late the next day, when he awoke, Kenny’s eyes followed the white infirmary wall toward a metal desk at the opening of the ward. He blew at the detritus descending from the ceiling, watched it float away, then concentrated on the liquid dripping through a tube attached to an elevated bag. When he pulled down his sheet, he saw stitches below his rib cage and several blood stains.
A nurse from Honduras walked up. “¿Como estás?” Kenny asked.
She eagerly responded. “¿Pero, como estas?” Then smiled and touched his shoulder.
A witness two beds over pounded his mattress. “Hey, lady, get the hell over here and take care of my bedpan.”
She rolled her eyes, stooped slightly, walked toward the demand. When she returned, Kenny continued with questions about Honduras, her hometown, his difficulties. In an environment where she was held in less esteem than children’s pets, she lingered. On his third day, she handed him a gift - a Hershey’s candy bar.
“No te puedo pagar,” said Kenny.
“No need to repay,” she said. Then added, “You don’t look like you belong here.”
Kenny laughed, then winced. “Gracias.”
On his final morning, the nurse placed the Spanish edition of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” on Kenny’s bed. “When you go back, read it,” and tucked it under his pillow, then patted the pillow as if fluffing it. “Wait. Open then.” She knew when he left the infirmary he would not be searched.
A week later Kenny was strong enough to walk the circumference of the enclosure. He moved carefully. His head down just enough to seem disinterested – as if passing through on an assignment.
#
Kenny had waited almost six years since his transfer to the North Center’s third floor when he heard a votary’s clipped accent call his name for the first time, “Du mars.” The sound seemed to extend. “Kaaaa-neee Duuuu-maws. Somebo’y lu’ ya.” He pitched a nine-by-twelve manila envelope on the concrete floor. Kenny hustled down iron steps to retrieve the package.
Back on the third floor, he flipped to the last page, saw the final word: DENIED. But when he read the preceding three words his body constricted. “… the same fate.”
He reached for the book the nurse had given him. Opened it to the section with the indentation. He did not understand why they allowed him to keep the book. Kenny closed his eyes. His contours hardened as if chiseled. DENIED, that last word on the final page told him whether sunny or dark, summer or winter, held no relevance for him. He knew what came next.
He would soon be inside a metal building, past racks of the North Center’s food items – cans of peaches and lard, bags of rice and beans, five-gallon bottles of ketchup and mustard – walking toward unmarked doors, then into a building connected to a small concrete warehouse, and through an opening the width of a garage door. When he stopped, the door would descend.
Lights would illuminate five unsmiling votaries in dark suits and one senior witness. At this point, Kenny would need assistance. We knew it required an element of irrationality to voluntarily continue. “Let’s go,” a votary would say. “Lean on me.”
Kenny’s shallow breathing would be familiar to these votaries, as would the next sequence – Exam table. White sheets. Straps. No needles. No tubes. Eyes never averted. No request for last words. No more time.
Our Rules dictated that Kenny remain awake while the senior witness held the toothbrush the nurse had secreted inside the book. The same sharpened toothbrush Kenny shoved into Herb Peavy’s carotid artery.
The senior witness would press that toothbrush into Kenny’s neck until there was no longer a pulse.
- THE END –
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AERYN MCAWLEY
ALINA LEFFEL
ANDREW CHINICH
ANNE GOODWIN
BRANDON HARDEN
CHARITY STEPHENS
CHICORA DAIBER
CHINO NUNEZ
CHRISTOPHER JOHNSON
DANIEL BAILEY
DIVANAH BENROS
DORIAN J. SINNOTT
EDWARD SPELMAN
ELISE DANIELLE IRWIN
ERIC BURBRIDGE
ERIK DEISSLER
ESTRELLA DEL VALLE
EWA MAZIERSKA
IVANKA FEAR
JAMES WRIGHT
JASMINE WILLIAMS
JD SHAH
JERRY GUARINO
JOHN SHEIRER
JORDAN BRAMLETT
JORDAN DANIELLE
JORGE SERRANO SIERRA
JOSEPH WASHBURN
JULIA BENALLY
KATHARINE STRANGE
KEITH BURKHOLDER
LISA YARNELL
LIZA STANALAND
MEHREEN AHMED
PAUL MILLS
RANDI WITHROW
ROBERT E. PARKIN
ROBERT WEXELBLATT
RUTH Z. DEMING
SANTOSHI SUBRAMANIAN & SHALINI PARAMESWARAN
TAMARA NICOLE CANTY
THOMAS ELSON
TIM GREEN
XAVIER MARTINEZ