by Ike Hamill
The whole situation was getting ridiculous. They didn’t come to just look at bodies and then walk away. The point was to get a finger and get out. He wanted to say something, but he realized the hypocrisy. If he wasn’t even willing to look at the bodies, how could he criticize the fact that she wasn’t trying to cut one of them up?
“This is a good one,” she said, when they had opened yet another drawer.
Eric gathered his will and moved closer to look over her shoulder. He felt an empty cold blow through him as his eyes fixed on the contents. The remains had been arranged roughly into the shape of a person, but it was a rough pile. Blood and fluid had leaked from the severed ends of parts and was soaked into the thick cardboard base. He wondered how the men would even be able to move the box without it tearing apart.
Nicky was reaching in with her bare hand.
“What are you…”
She plucked something from the box, next to where the paper gown ended. It was two fingers, still joined together by the webbing.
“Find a bag or something,” she whispered.
Eric couldn’t move. All he could do was look at the finger that she was holding by the tip, and the way that the other finger dangled from the flap of skin. The cuts in the skin and flesh looked clean, but the bone sticking out had cartilage that looked like it had been ripped and torn. It reminded Eric of the end of a chicken leg that someone had chewed. The sight of it paralyzed him.
“Eric, come on!” Nicky said through clenched teeth.
“Right. Yeah.”
He stumbled to the other side of the room where there were cabinets. Pulling them open, he found mostly cleaning supplies. In one, he finally found a box of plastic bags. They were the cheap kind—the ones that his uncle had always described as, “More form than function. Useless as a double-ended shovel.”
Nicky was still holding the fingers away from herself as she shouldered the heavy drawer closed. The momentum of the thing gathered. When it slammed back into the wall, it sounded like the door of a vault closing. For a second, they both stood frozen, waiting for an alarm to go off or something.
Then, she raced towards him, fingers first.
He fumbled at the flap of the bag, trying to make the opening big enough that she wouldn’t touch him with the fingers as she slipped them inside. When she was done, he realized that he was now holding the severed fingers as she moved towards the door.
Pushing it open a crack, she waved him forward before she slipped through.
Eric followed, holding the bag out in front of himself.
“Put that in your pocket,” she whispered.
Nicky slipped across the room to the next door. Eric was glad she was leading the way. He felt so befuddled that he wasn’t sure he even knew the way out. When they reached the door that was propped open, Eric fought the urge to run past Nicky and escape into the night. She crept up slowly, listening and angling herself to see through the gap in the doorway. Before she laid her hand on the door, she turned and put a finger to her lips. Eric gagged, realizing that her finger had recently touched the dead flesh.
His head was swimming as he followed. He slid through the gap behind her and they slipped along the side of the building. Voices were approaching from the corner. Nicky ran ahead, frantically waving for him to follow.
Eric was still holding the baggy in front of him. As they ran from the red light, his eyes were fixed on the jiggling dead flesh. Nicky ducked behind a tree. At the end of the pavement, Eric’s foot caught on a rock and he spilled forward. The black ground flew up towards him. He collapsed on top of the bag of fingers and held perfectly still, hoping that he was far enough away from the light of the building.
One of their voices came from the darkness.
“The fuck was that?”
“Dog, maybe?” the other one suggested.
“Rats again,” the first one said.
Eric didn’t even breathe.
Something rattled. The hinges squealed. He was about to turn his head when he saw a beam of light carve through the trees, projecting shadows. Eric had no choice but to jump up, run, and hope that he could get away. He steeled himself to do just that when he heard Nicky’s breathing. He might be able to outrun the two men, but there was no guarantee that she could. He couldn’t put her in that position.
The light swept away and something thunked.
“Okay,” Nicky whispered.
Eric stayed put.
“Come on!” she said. “Are you hurt? Let’s go?”
If he hadn’t trusted her completely, he wouldn’t have been able to force himself to move. His muscles had frozen again.
“Eric?” she whispered.
He got up.
# # #
He was cold, wet, and shaking as they stood in the dark.
“We might as well start walking,” Nicky said.
The plastic bag rattled in his shaking hand. Half of him was glad that he couldn’t see the dead fingers, and the other half was horrified. What if they were wiggling inside the bag? What if the proximity to living flesh had woken them up? If that was the case, then maybe the pile of dismembered flesh back in the crematorium was also moving around again. What if it had already dispatched the two drug dealers and was now hunting Eric in the darkness?
“Which way?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“He’s not coming back, Eric. Which way to town?”
“What town?”
“Fuck. Headlights. Is that your uncle’s car?”
Eric couldn’t tell. He was looking at the fingers, trying to tell if they were moving as the car pulled to a stop.
“Where the fuck were you?” Nicky asked.
Eric let her push him in through the rear door of the Gran Torino. She took the baggy of fingers from him and he exhaled with a shudder.
“I had to go the long way around,” Brett said. “Those guys would have known something was up if I came back this way directly.”
“You ever heard of just pulling down the road and waiting a minute before you come back by? You know how long we’ve been standing out here in the dark?” Nicky asked.
Eric didn’t care about any of that. The Gran Torino was warm and the fingers were no longer in his possession.
“Did you get one?”
“Yeah,” Nicky said.
“No shit. That’s cool,” Brett said.
“Not really. You mind speeding up a bit? I’d like to get home before dawn,” she said.
“Yeah—great idea. We have a monster bag of weed and cadaver parts in the vehicle. Let’s drive fast and get pulled over. That sound like a good idea to you?”
Nicky sighed.
Eric leaned his head against the glass. Now that his pulse was starting to come back down and the warmth of the car was penetrating his clothing, the cool glass felt nice against his skin. He let his eyes drift shut.
“Hey,” Nicky said, elbowing him.
“What?”
“You’re driving?”
“Huh?”
Eric blinked until he understood where he was. The driver’s seat was empty and they were under the yellow lights of a gas station.
“What happened?”
“You fell asleep. Can you drive me home?”
“Oh.”
The cold air outside woke him up fast. He shook off the last of his sleepiness and climbed behind the wheel. Nicky had climbed into the passenger’s seat. She told him to take a left and then he really figured out where he was going.
The trip to Nicky’s was fast.
“You going to be okay? You still look a little funky,” she said. She held out something to him. When he saw that it was the baggy, he recoiled. Nicky dropped the bag on the seat next to him.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“Yeah. Of course.”
She got out and he watched her walk up the driveway to her house. He stayed put until he saw the light in the kitchen come on and then go off a
gain. She would be heading up to her room. Eric put the Gran Torino back in gear and pulled away slowly, not sure of exactly where he was headed. There was something about home—he wasn’t supposed to go there. His notebook might say, but he had taken it out of his pocket when he was in back. It was still on the rear seat.
Following his instincts, he took a left and then another left, headed towards the bridge. Something told him that everything would make more sense if he could just get across the river. It was the middle of the night and there were no other cars on the road. He slowed as he approached the green bridge. The lights from the old mill were just bright enough to cast shadows amongst the steel trusses overhead. A fog was rolling down the river, sweeping over the deck of the bridge.
Instead of crossing he pulled into the gravel lot on the right. It seemed safer to cross on foot.
He got out and then forced himself to reach back in and grab the bag of fingers. It would be stupid to leave them behind. They were valuable, even if he couldn’t quite remember why.
Eric walked slowly, gripping the cold handrail as his feet crossed into the fog. He was testing each footstep in case the sidewalk had fallen through somehow. Halfway across, the fog cleared and he could see the lights on the spillway of the dam. Somewhere across the river, the Lady of Prayer Rock would be prowling, searching for someone to lure into the depths. All the kids knew the story. Stranded by her friends at a party, she had tried to cross the footbridge at night and had stumbled. The Lady had fallen into the current, drowned, and then washed up at Prayer Rock. Now, she waited in the shallows, calling softly for help. Anyone who might try to assist her was dragged into the water to share her fate.
Eric looked down.
The baggy of fingers was dangling over the edge, barely pinched in his grip. They had worked so hard to get the flesh and he couldn’t remember why.
He heard her voice on the air as another blanket of fog rolled his way.
The Lady was moaning for help and, at the same time, singing a sad song.
He could almost see her, but something was reflecting off the fog, illuminating it so he couldn’t see past it. It was frustrating. He knew that if he could just get a little closer, he might see what she looked like. A voice whispered in his head that he might know her if he could just see her. Calling her name might be all she needed to find her way out of the river and up onto land. He might be able to save her.
There was a sound behind him. He knew that time was short. Eric pushed himself up on the railing and tried to get his leg over.
A hand grabbed him and Eric realized that he had made a mistake.
The Lady wasn’t trying to be saved.
“Eric!” a man’s voice shouted.
He was jerked backwards and nearly lost his grip on the fingers.
A light clicked on, blinding him.
Eric barely kept his feet under him as he was hauled towards the light.
# # #
Blinking and shaking his head, Eric saw that he was in a police car. A light flashed on the dashboard and a monotone voice gave a burst of barely intelligible words.
“What were you doing?” Officer Libby asked. “You were halfway over the railing.”
They were on the wrong side of the river. Eric knew that Officer Libby had no jurisdiction over here. Part of him wanted to jump from the moving vehicle, but with each second the desire faded a little more. It was easier to stay put.
He shook his head again.
“She was out there,” he said.
“Who was? Nicky? Lily?”
“No. The Lady of Prayer Rock. She was out in the river calling to me.”
“Are you on drugs, son?”
“Huh?”
“I saw your uncle’s car parked in the turnout and then I found you on the bridge. What’s that in your… Holy shit. You got the finger?”
Eric looked down and jumped at the sight. He had forgotten what he was holding.
“Oh. Right. We got them.”
“I never. Jesus,” Officer Libby said. He pulled over. They weren’t that far from the bus station. Eric thought about how it would feel to get on a bus and put all of this behind him. The last time, he had been running towards something. Now, he would be running away. The idea didn’t sit well.
“You didn’t cut those off of a live guy, did you?”
“No,” Eric said. “It was a…”
He struggled to come up with the word. The fog from the river was still clouding parts of his brain.
“Never mind—don’t tell me. Probably best if I don’t know. So we just need the…”
Officer Libby flipped through his own notebook. “A live fish. That will be easy enough. We need to get you back home so you’ll be ready in the morning.”
“No. I can’t go there. There’s…” Eric shook his head until it felt like his brain was slamming against the inside of his skull. Everything jolted back into focus. “He was in the water and maybe in the air. The Trader is influencing everything. We barely got out—we were at each other’s throats.”
Eric’s eyes went wide as he figured it out.
“He wanted me to drop the fingers into the river so we wouldn’t be able to finish the trade. That way he could get them for free. When I didn’t drop them, he almost got me to jump.”
“I thought you said it was the Lady?”
“Maybe they’re the same thing?”
“Where are your cousins?”
“They went to Charlie Holdt’s house. That’s right. I should go there.”
Officer Libby looked over his shoulder and then pulled back onto the road.
“We’ll go the long way around.”
# # #
He was exhausted by the time that Frank Libby pulled up in front of Charlie Holdt’s house. The lights were off. Officer Libby clicked on a flashlight and walked him around the side and then down the outside stairs. The lights were on down there—he could see them through the heavy curtain on the glass in the top panel of the door. Eric knocked.
“Yeah. It’s open,” a voice called.
Officer Libby pushed the door in and everyone sat upright.
“Everyone behaving in here?” Officer Libby asked.
Mumbled responses came from Jessie, Holdty, and Fish. Lily rose and crossed the room.
“What’s happening? Did you get it?”
Eric nodded.
“Very good,” she said. “Everything okay, Frank?”
Officer Libby scanned the room again. His narrowed eyes made each kid tense up as they passed over them. Jessie appeared defiant, but Holdty and Fish both looked guilty.
“You kids stay out of trouble. We have to be sharp tomorrow.”
“Got it, Frank,” Lily said. “Thank you.”
He tipped her a nod and backed out, shutting the door behind himself.
“Let’s see it,” Jessie said.
The fingers were in the bag in Eric’s pocket. He fished them out, horrified at how normal it seemed to have severed digits in his possession. Jessie got up and approached slowly, staring at the things. He took them and knelt in front of the round table. The others inched forward, getting a better look in the dim light. On the TV, the news was ending with the anchors gathering their papers and the camera pulling back. Eric took a seat on the couch next to Lily.
“Nicky go home?” Lily asked.
Charlie Holdt reached forward the poked at one of the fingers through the plastic bag.
“Yeah,” Eric said. “I’m lucky Frank Libby came along. I was in a fog. I think the Trader’s influence is strong over there.”
He shut his eyes, eager to surrender to the weariness that had infused him.
“But Nicky is still there?”
“Yeah. I think she’ll be fine,” he said, opening one eye to look at the boys. They were daring each other to pick up the bag.
“What’s her job tomorrow?” Lily asked.
He heard her produce her little notebook. They were the checklist gang—checking to make
sure they didn’t forget.
“She’s supposed to drive the second car,” Lily said.
“Oh. Right.”
“Why don’t you call her and make sure that she remembers where she’s supposed to be?” Lily asked.
“Can’t. Her mom freaks out if anyone calls late.”
Lily began to chastise Jessie, telling him to have some respect for the fingers of the dead. Holdty made a joke. Eric melted into the couch, finally giving in to sleep.
JESSIE
JESSIE SHIFTED FROM FOOT to foot. It was cold and he was tired of standing there. They all had their notepads out, talking through the plan one more time. Jessie was barely paying attention. Technically, his job was the easiest. After being dropped off, all he had to do was negotiate for information. He already had what the Trader wanted.
“And you follow close,” Officer Libby said. “Don’t let anyone see you take a left at the driveway.”
“Got it,” Nicky said.
The mist from the river hung in the air, soaking through his clothes. Jessie shivered and blew into his hands.
“Okay? Any questions?”
“One thing,” Eric said. “It just occurred to me. When I was trying to pull him from the tree, he really screamed.”
“It was loud,” Nicky said.
“Don’t sweat it,” Officer Libby said.
Eric looked like he was going to question why. Instead, he only shrugged.
“Jessie,” his sister said. “You be careful, okay?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jessie said.
“Okay. Get to it,” Officer Libby said.
Jessie jogged over to the Gran Torino. In the backseat, the goldfish looked sluggish until he picked up the bag. Then, it darted around in its little habitat. Eric fired up the car.
“This better work,” Lily said, closing her door. “He wants that stuff, Jessie. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”
“I know.”
“And make him tell you what he knows before he hands it over,” Lily said.
“I know.” They had covered all of this. Jessie had it all written down.
“Make him promise. He doesn’t go back on promises.”
“I know.”
Eric took a right. He was taking the back way so that they could drop him off alongside the cemetery. Jessie would walk the last couple of blocks. His heart was already pounding, anticipating the exertion.
