by Brandon Enns
The elevator crawled downward.
***
Summer. 1996.
It wasn't that Eli didn't find animals cute. He loved dogs and cats. They were cute. That was part of what made it so good. His daydreams had reached the point of physical harm, whether it be pulling them up by their scruff, pulling their tails, or kicking them with notable force, their backs hunched as they flew through the air. Daydreams eventually led to timid experimentation, which led to the greatest feeling he
had ever experienced.
The neighborhood cat, ‘Charlie’, made visits to various homes, always purring and looking for pets. He was an old cat that belonged to the neighbor girl. Eli had witnessed on countless occasions the strength of their bond.
Her name was Stacey. He didn't care for her. She used to be nice. Stacey always wore overalls and had her silky black hair in a ponytail. Over the course of the last two years, she had changed completely. She never said hi and gave him mean looks on more than one occasion. Her skirts weren't low enough, and he'd see her butt cheeks sometimes. He liked her better in overalls when she was nice and said hello.
One day, after school, he stumbled upon the perfect opportunity. Charlie the cat had found his way into their backyard and was sitting in Sarah's garden sunbathing with his eyes closed, head held up high, soaking in as much as possible. Let's play little kitty. I want to play with you, please.
Charlie was a friendly tabby cat with a plush coat of fur. Eli's hands were shaking.
Eli inched over slowly, hoping his fuzzy eyes remained closed. Yes, enjoy the sun puss-puss. Electricity tickled him everywhere, a euphoric paralysis controlling him, his target so close he could hear his purrs. Eli began petting Charlie and he purred gratefully, enjoying the added touch to his relaxing siesta. That's a good old cat, you’re a good boy, aren't you? The purr played with Eli's heart. He gritted down on his teeth to keep himself from squealing out loud. Can't scare the kitty. His soft pets became firm, then rough, but Charlie still didn't mind. You like a good scrub, don't ya? He trembled wildly. Eli never felt like he acted his age, like those other kids in his grade, but as he stroked Charlie he became a child, embracing
playtime.
Eli slid his hands gently around Charlie's neck. It was so much thinner than he had imagined. So much fur...Oh, kitty. Let's have some fun, please, oh please.
Charlie was still enjoying the sun, eyes closed, when Eli applied pressure, ever so slowly. Charlie, old and stiff, was in no mood to move but opened his eyes, now distracted from his relaxing afternoon rays. Then it happened. Laughter burst out and his grip tightened. He had been blessed with super strength just for this moment. Charlie's eyes widened, the vertical pupil slits narrowing. I knew it. You're a bad kitty, eh? That's okay, let's just play.
Charlie's first squirm was a pitiful attempt, and Eli howled with laughter, his grip tightening, feeling the cat's throat in his hands. Then the nasty growls came from deep within. Spit flew from the cat's mouth as it snarled and squirmed for dear life, eyes frantic.
A whole new world had opened.
Eli used both hands, the cat's hind paws kicking wildly, his white fuzzy underside flailing about. Eli's knuckles turned white and his face deep red, the restriction of his own airflow adding new pleasures. Charlie's eyes bulged outward, and his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, a panicked look in the cat's eyes that seemed so human. Charlie began seizing, his pupils dilated, eyes still bulging. Will they pop right out? Oh, please do. He wriggled and he wriggled, his tail hanging down, life fading after a wheeze of demonic kitty groans. Not so fast, stinky. He released and held him up by the scruff of his neck. The ridges and tops of his eyes peeled back, showing pink flesh behind the whites. He appeared to be dead, his yellowish eyes fading, tongue dangling out the side, when a
loud gag forced air into his lungs, rejuvenating life.
Charlie choked, flexing his damaged throat, bits of air consumed in chunks as he continued to make a gagging sound. Breathing must have been such a relief. As the cat realized life was still possible, Eli slid his hands down and began choking again.
The pleasures continued.
The same sets of vicious moans and snarls followed, a bounty of blessings that Eli was fortunate to relive. More laughter, a broken series of giggles leaving his lips gleefully. Oh, kitty, your breath, how it smells. Sour fish!
Teeth snarled out like a wolf, left eye closed, the right rolling backward, and Eli made a violent twisting action. The sound of bone breaking popped sweetly into the air, making Eli go weak in the knees. His erection had gone, and urine dribbled down his shorts, warming his legs.
Holding the cat in his hands, he looked into its eyes, which were both rolled back in its head. Eli quivered and dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. Finally, he released his hands from clumpy hot fur and rested Charlie on the grass as his high wore down.
He petted Charlie's fluffy tail with soft strokes.
Eli looked up and heard someone coming. He didn't want to move. It felt too good to move.
Stacey, the neighbor girl, rounded the corner of her house and screamed.
Three days later, Eli sat on the couch opposite his foster mother, Sarah. Across the room, a man and a woman in cheap suits looked uncomfortable, staring into their hands and sipping their waters frequently to avoid eye contact. He had upset Sarah greatly. He could tell she wanted to cry, but she
was being strong.
"Eli. These people are here to help you."
The shame was intense, causing him to look down at the shag carpet under his feet.
"It's going to be okay, Eli. We have good people that will work with you," said the woman. She had large breasts and fat hands.
"We will still visit each other, sweetie."
Sarah extended a hand but drew it back, away from Eli. She doesn't love me anymore. "I'm so sorry. We just...we can't afford to have our house this full. I wish we could."
He knew it was because of the terrible thing he had done. He had let Sarah down. She had placed faith in him over and over again and he failed her.
She spoke with soft words again. "I'm so sorry, Eli."
"It's going to be okay," assured the obese woman.
"Why can't I stay with you, Sarah?"
"I know it's hard, but this is the best thing for you."
"We simply found a wonderful home that is a better fit for you, Eli," said the man in the suit.
"But I want to stay here."
The woman spoke again, "I know it's hard but Sarah is unable to have this much work. And the younger ones need her. You understand?"
Eli nodded.
Sarah chimed in. "You're going to love your new home."
"Your new foster parents are terrific," said the woman.
"Sarah is my parent."
Sarah battled tears. Rodney walked down the stairs and looked around the corner. He sprinted over to Eli gaily. "Eli! Eli!" He then looked at the tears on Sarah's face. "Momma
cry! Momma cry! Momma cry!"
"Rodney. I have to go. But I will see you soon."
"See you soon," Rodney repeated.
"That's right, Rodney."
"See you soon, Eli."
"See you soon."
***
The elevator doors opened, pulling Eli out of his trance. He readjusted, hoisting Steven up on his shoulder, a dull ache now pulsating from lifting his heavy body. Using all of his might, he strode across the darkened dungeon before letting Steven's body fall hard onto the metal table, his head bouncing. What a night this will be. I will take my time.
I hope that wasn't Officer Allen in the alley.
19
Jennifer parked across the road and approached along the west side of Eli's home, using a bluff of trees as a guard. They were tall and grouped together, branches overlapping, locking arms in spots. She crept low, cautious of potential gunfire from his house. She was unsure if she had been spotted earlier in the alley, but regardless, stealth was a must.
The snow beneath her feet was deep. There were more flakes than there was space in the sky. The temperature had dropped significantly after the sun fell, yet Jennifer was pouring sweat down her backside, her Canada Goose winter coat using the heated aftermath of adrenaline and circulating it. She felt barbaric, daring, ruthless, honorable, fearful, incompetent, lonely-a seven-layer dinner of contradicting emotion. Up ahead in the snow at the end of the tree line, she spotted drops of blood leading around the backside of his house. She followed the tracks, leading her to an elevator around the back.
She stared at the steel doors and the blood that had congealed in front on the icy ground. Is he prepared for me? Could be a trap if he knew I was onto him from the bar.
On her way back to the front door, she could hear branches crack from the bush east of the house, close to his driveway. She jerked her head sideways to see if he was hiding. Straining to see through the thick spruce trees, Jennifer couldn't make out the shape of any human. There was only a soft whistle provided by the wind.
The doorknob turned and she let herself in slowly, not
taking her shoes off for him this time. The kitchen was clear, and she moved around the corner into the living room. Clear. An old grandfather clock clicked side to side, pendulum swinging. The floors were slick with a waxy shine. She moved away from the living room.
Jennifer rounded the corner into an oddly narrow hallway. A large man with wide shoulders would barely squeeze through. It ran the full length of the house, with no bathrooms or anything else along the way. She followed the path to the far end of the hall, which ended with a red door. She was prepared to enter a torture room, detached limbs scattered on the cement floor. What she found was not as such. The small room was very cold, unlike the rest of the house. Four cement steps led her down to the elevator tunnel that was guarded by a crudely made steel gate. With a skinny walkway around the tunnel, there was a cubby area for storage where Eli had placed several boxes.
Continuing on, there was another door, this one painted black.
She reached the end of the long skinny hallway. She stood in the cold room for a moment, elevator to her left, door directly in front of her. Her prize was waiting for her.
Gun raised, she burst through the door, finger on the trigger. She almost pulled it.
The room was large and had an enormous and elegant oak table. At the end of it sat a woman.
Her facial expression remained unchanged, a subtle smirk unmoving. Her hands were folded neatly on the table, as if she was praying, but she still stared daggers at Jennifer, her eyes glimmering with a golden sparkle.
"Are you hurt?"
No response, no movement.
"Ma'am, is he downstairs? In the basement?"
Still, nothing.
"Ma'am, please step away from the table with your hands up. RCMP. Do as I say."
Her smile was unwavering, eyes unblinking. Jennifer inched closer. "Ma'am! Do as I say. Hands up slowly."
Nothing. Jennifer stepped forward, but she then realized that the woman was not testing her. Her face shined with a waxy coating. She was paralyzed, not breathing.
She was a wax doll.
There were no other doors, just the end of his oddly designed home. The end of the earth.
Looking back at the wax woman, the walls felt as though they were closing in on her. Directly underneath her feet, a madman had his hands on Steven Adams. Maybe Mia Morrow and Bart Reider are down there too. Still alive. She stepped out of the room and sucked in cold air. There was a black button for the elevator. She hesitated.
He'll be waiting for me.
***
Eli was infatuated with the hot flames. His well-crafted incinerator was a proud accomplishment and a vital part of his process. Whether it was a God, science, chance, nature, or the devil himself, he was grateful that the stars had aligned to aid him in his quest. For without opportune circumstances, he could very well be behind bars in Prince Albert, or dead. He had developed a great respect for the world's natural order, even though the people living within it were misinformed, often ignorant savages that took so many aspects of life for granted. Life was best lived by those worthy. There were many
that had to be burned, the world cleansed of their obstruction of the scales. He was unsure of when exactly it had resonated, but it was now clear that his path would not end tonight. This was greater than his own mission.
When he turned to grab the razor, he noticed that Steven's eyes were now open wide, dramatically in fact. Steven must have been aware of his fate, knowing that “The Satanist” had him. Eli chuckled. The press had quite perfectly promoted his charity work along with his other work, attaching a silly name to something they didn't understand. It was fine by him that they distracted themselves with tales of good versus evil. Light versus dark. Angels versus demons.
He petted Steven's soft hair. Silky and smooth, smelling of mint. He usually preferred the smell of a woman's hair, but Steven's mane was beautiful and it stimulated him just the same.
He turned on his razor and Steven jerked beneath the harness.
"Please! Don't!"
"I'm just giving you a trim."
He started to cry like a child. "I can't feel my legs. Help me. I can't move my toes."
"I'm sorry about that. I think I damaged your spinal cord to some extent. You may be paralyzed."
Eli ran the razor through his hair straight down the middle, taking a big chunk. Eli grimaced at the hair that hit the floor. "A shame. Though it will be put to use."
"You don't have to do this."
"That is incorrect. I have to do this."
"Please," Steven begged.
"Without balance, there is nothing but chaos."
"Just tell me what you want. I don't wanna die."
Eli sighed at the usual protest. "Everyone always says this, Mr. Adams. I'm aware of your concern. But believe me, it's for the best."
"No, no, no. Please don't do this!"
Eli set the razor down and exhaled. "Picture a foot that is terribly infected. It could cause the body to go septic. Our world is the body, and you Steven, are the foot. Now, we could take our chances and treat it, hoping that the infection will stop spreading, perhaps leaving the foot lame. Or, we could cut it off, letting the body go on without concern, without risk of death. If I were to let you go on living, our world would struggle to fight you off as you infect it with your immorality. Especially in your line of work, Steven. No matter how small your wrongdoings are, no matter how lightly you use invalid excuses to justify the imbalances left in your wake, you will continue to infect, slowly but surely. The world will become gangrenous. I can assure you that."
"I'm a good person. I won't do anything wrong, I swear. I haven't done anything wrong! I'm not infecting anything!"
"This was meant to be. It must be done."
"No, just stop and—"
"Please be quiet. I need to think. It's so goddamn loud in here!" His belly-bursting yell echoed in his lair.
The thought of Officer Allen crossed his mind once more. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on her in the field. Her black hair had been swept to the left around her shoulder. The wind held it up for a moment, blowing it back and forth gently. He wondered what it smelled like. Saskatoon berry? The humorous thought curved his lips.
To erase concern, he walked over to the corner of the
dungeon near the elevator and looked up at a TV monitor. There was no one.
20
Staring at the flickering flames in his oven, the past inked into his mind again. It invaded hard and unforgiving.
Get out of my head! Get out of my head!
Eli was swallowed whole by his past.
***
May 2002.
Eli sat parked outside Clavet Composite School. He watched fourteen-year-old Rodney walk through the doors with his backpack on. Rodney was chubby now and wore thick glasses. Eli wondered if Sarah had lost control over his food consumption in the
house. He liked Lays potato chips very much. One time he had stolen a bag without her knowing and ate the entire thing in his bed. He remembered Rodney had a horrible stomachache. Sarah was upset but had no way to truly outlet her frustrations onto Rodney. She should have though, just because he was different didn't mean he wasn't aware he was doing something bad. Though Eli loved him, he would have punished him for it if it were his decision.
He remained seated and observed. He longed to communicate with his brother again. But, reuniting with him would only make the future more difficult. Rodney walked toward the line of busses but was intercepted by four kids who were laughing and putting on a show like they were friends with Rodney. The one boy placed his arm around Rodney (they were all two years older, he'd guessed). Eli squeezed the steering wheel.
If they can't understand you, they tear you apart and feed you to the wolves, he thought. Rodney's heart was too kind to know any better. He was too accepting.
They convinced Rodney to come with them, and he followed. He looked uncertain and scared but was herded into the car anyway. The Mustang peeled out of the parking lot.
What do they want with him?
***
Steven kept his eyes closed as he lay on the metal table, the fire boiling the sweat that was now flowing off of his body. He could hear his captor rummaging around him. Then his hair was caressed gently.
Steven knew what this was. It couldn’t have been anything else. He just didn’t know who. It didn’t really matter who it was.
