The Oblivion Society

by Marcus Alexander Hart

  “Alright, Debbie, give me that before you completely ruin it.”

  “No,” Debbie sulked, clutching her treasure. “It’s my baby.”

  “It’s not your baby,” Erik said. “It’s the physical embodiment of a spastic Robin Williams voice-over.”

  “It’s my baby!” Debbie shrieked.

  Erik shoved his upturned palm under her nose.

  “It’s not your baby until you pay for it!” he barked. “Now hand it over!”

  “I hate you!” Debbie screamed. “You never let me have anything the kitty gives me!”

  With that, she reared back and clapped her baby into Erik’s palm. A pair of lifeless membrane wings unfurled wetly over his narrow hand, revealing the mangled body of a dead bat. Erik’s blood-spattered arm spasmed involuntarily, sending the deceased on a final flight across the room.

  “Ew! Ew, God! No,” he stammered, wiping his hand frantically on the carpet.

  “Debbie! Where did you get that?!”

  “The kitty gave it to me!” Debbie pointed.

  Erik looked past the tip of Debbie’s pudgy digit to see Twiki guiltily darting away, leaving a trail of grisly red pawprints in her wake. His eyes followed her across the store and past Harry, who was conspicuously trying to stuff an Inspector Gadget doll in his coat pocket.

  Erik shook his head heavily and looked at his wristwatch. The arms of a cartoon Mr. T indicated quarter to midnight.

  “Look, your dad is going to be here any minute,” he sighed hopefully. “Why don’t you kids just go wait outside so that I can lock up? I’m too tired to play Charles in Charge any more.”

  “Okay! I’mago ouside an jump offa bwidge!” Harry said, running for the door. Erik stepped up behind the retreating kindergartner and put a long hand on his tiny shoulder.

  “Whoa whoa, not so fast, Captain Kleptoroo.”

  He turned Harry around and began patting down his coat, relieving it of its store of misbegotten treasures.

  “Oh look, it’s Optimus Prime,” Erik said, pulling the battered robot from a bulging pocket. “And who’s this playing backup? Why, it’s the California Raisins!” Debbie stepped up behind Erik and spoke sweetly.

  “Can I go wait outside?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Erik said distractedly, pulling a handful of pink M.U.S.C.L.E. figures from Harry’s pocket. “Your brother will be out in a second.” The bells on the front door gave a jingle as Erik continued his inventory control.

  “Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and two Michelangelos.” Erik sighed and searched Harry’s innocent-looking little eyes.

  “Why do you do this, Harry?” he asked. “Why are you constantly trying to steal stuff?”

  Harry shrugged.

  “A’cause Debbie ses …”

  “Debbie said this; Debbie said that,” Erik said dismissively. “You obviously look up to your big sister a lot, but you could get yourself into big trouble if you don’t stop trying to impress her by stealing. This is just like that episode of Full House where DJ’s sweater got run over by a lawnmower, so Stephanie shoplifts a new one to replace it. Stephanie thought she was just helping out her big sister, but she still got into big trouble for it. Do you see what I’m saying, Harry?” Harry looked at Erik emptily.

  “Debbie ses I godda beeda virgin.”

  Erik blinked uncomfortably.

  “Well,” he said. “That’s an entirely different ‘very special episode’ that I’m not going to get into tonight.”

  He stood up and pushed open the front door.

  “Alright, get out of here, kid. Your dad oughta be showing up any minute.” Harry shuffled out the door and Erik closed it behind him, turning the sign in the window from “Open” to “Closed.” He picked up the pile of attempted misdemeanors on the floor and began returning them lovingly to their shelves. When the store was returned to order, he grabbed a bag of cat food from behind the counter and poured it into a Garfield “I hate Mondays” bowl with a loud, plastic clatter.

  “Come and get it, Twiki,” he called. “I gave you a double dose today so that you don’t have to go killing anything before tomorrow. Does that sound like a good deal to you, Twiki? Twiki?”

  He stood up and looked around the darkened shop. That was strange. Usually Twiki had her head buried in the bowl the second she heard the sound of him picking up the bag. He made a quick circuit of the aisles, but his cat had seemingly vanished.

  “Twiki? Hey Twiki, where are you, kitty?”

  Just then his eyes passed over the front window and into the street beyond. There stood Debbie Stokes with her short, stubby arms wrapped around Twiki’s flailing body, spinning her around and swinging her back and forth like a disoriented feline pendulum.

  “Debbie!” Erik gasped. “How did she get Twiki out of-” He smacked himself on the forehead as everything suddenly became clear.

  “A diversion! ” he snapped. “She told Harry to be a diversion. ” The bells on the shop door chimed wildly as Erik exploded into the street, shouting at the top of his lungs.

  “Debbie Stokes, you give me back my cat!”

  “You can’t have her!” Debbie wailed, swinging Twiki defensively. “She loves me!

  The kitty loves me! Don’t you, kitty?!”

  More than pleased at the opportunity to add her two cents to the debate, Twiki lashed out with her claws and drew a long red gouge across Debbie’s face. With an earsplitting scream, the startled girl dropped her stolen pet and planted both hands on her tiny, wounded cheeks.

  “Oh my God, Debbie,” Erik gasped, dropping to his knees. “Are you all right?” He grabbed the girl around her shoulders and held her comfortingly, pulling her little hands away from her face for a better look at her injuries. Twiki ran off in a reeling, dizzy trot, frantically seeking refuge from all of the insane people who were so desperate for her love.

  “Catch my kitty,” Debbie sobbed, clutching her cheeks. “Harry, catch my kitty!”

  “The kitty will be fine,” Erik said. “Let me see your face!” Just then Erik heard a tiny splash and a long, echoing mew. He whipped around to see Harry on his hands and knees, peering into the open mouth of a curbside storm drain.

  “Da kitty falled inda wawtew!” he laughed.

  “No! My kitty!” Debbie wailed. “Harry, go get her!”

  “Owigh, Debbie!”

  Erik leapt to his feet and whirled around.

  “Harry, no!”

  But it was too late. Erik’s eyes had barely focused on the narrow drain by the time Harry Stokes had disappeared down its throat with a scream and a shallow splash. Erik ran to the opening and lay down on his belly in the abandoned street, peering into the eight-inch-tall opening.

  “Harry!” he screamed. “Harry, are you all right?” Somewhere in the blackness below, Harry was crying.

  “Aaaaah! No! No! I don’ wanngo swimmies. I don’ wanna, I don’ wanna,” he stammered. “I wanngo home. I don’ wanngo swimmies, I wanngo home.” Debbie leaned over Erik and screamed down the hole.

  “Harry! Stop crying and go find my kitty!”

  “No! Don’t find the kitty!” Erik squeaked. “Just stay right where you are, okay, Harry? Don’t move! I’m going to get you out of there!”

  He sat up and impotently scrabbled his fingernails around the edges of the manhole cover set in the sidewalk above the drain, trying to get a grip. Debbie stuck her tiny head into the opening and shouted.

  “Harry! Find my-”

  Before she could finish her command, Erik had pulled her out of the drain and set her down on the curb with a furious impatience in his eyes.

  “Stop it! Leave him alone!” he screeched. “You just sit here and be quiet, or else!”

  “Or else what? ” Debbie said petulantly.

  “Or else! Or else …” Erik raised a bony finger as a long string of nothing ran through his head. “Or else you don’t even want to know, okay?! Now just sit still for five seconds!”

  With that, he tore off across the street and ba
ck into the shop. The second Erik was out of her field of vision, Debbie was back on her hands and knees in front of the grate.

  “Find her, Harry!” she whispered loudly. “Find my kitty!”

  “Debbie Stokes!” Erik bellowed. “What did I just tell you?!” Debbie looked over her shoulder and screamed in outright terror. Erik had already returned, and he stood looming over her with the blade of the heavy theatrical sword hoisted above his head, twinkling menacingly in the moonlight.

  “Move it!” Erik barked. “Or else! ”

  Without a sound, Debbie scrambled over the top of the drain and pressed herself up against the nearest building in horror. When she was clear, Erik jammed the point of the sword under the lid of the manhole and pried it up, then scraped it heavily aside. He dropped the blade and gave Debbie a stern look.

  “You stay here and don’t move, you understand? I’m going to go save your brother.”

  Debbie nodded nervously.

  “Please, just find my kitty.”

  With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Erik climbed down the short ladder of iron bars that protruded from the wall of the small cement cube. The floor appeared solid and slick, but as he stepped off the ladder he realized the bottom of the chamber was shin-deep in murky brown water.

  “Ack! Jesus,” he hissed, pulling his waterlogged sneaker out of the muck.

  “I … I don’ wanna finda kitty. I don’. I don’ wanna. I wanngo home.” Erik’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, picking out the shivering form of Harry Stokes hunched in a corner. He bent over and gave the boy a quick examination. Harry was soaking wet and nearly paralyzed with shock, but otherwise he appeared to be unharmed.

  “You’re okay,” Erik said, giving Harry’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “There, you see what happens when you just do whatever Debbie tells you to?” Harry just sniffled and trembled, and Erik suddenly felt bad for taking advantage of the opportunity to lecture him.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here where you’ll be safe.”

  He pulled Harry to his trembling feet and helped him climb the wet, slimy ladder. When Harry was safely on the sidewalk, Erik started to climb out of the hole behind him.

  “Wait! Where’s my kitty?!” Debbie wailed. “Where’s my kitty?!” Erik looked back down into the grimy pool at the bottom of the drain.

  “She’s not here,” he said bitterly. “She’s gone.”

  “My kitty, my kitty,” Debbie sobbed. “Please, find her! Find my kitty!” She put her tiny, pigtailed head on Erik’s shoulder and cried long, hot tears. Erik’s face collapsed into an annoyed smirk as his heart started to melt.

  “Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ll go look, but you have to make me a promise.”

  “Anything! Anything for my kitty! Oh, my kitty!”

  Erik looked Debbie sternly in the eye.

  “Promise me that you’ll stop bossing Harry around. That kid idolizes you. You should treat him more like a brother and less like an accomplice. Deal?” Debbie bobbed her head.

  “Find the kitty. Please,” she choked.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  After depositing a reassuring pat on Debbie’s head, Erik lowered himself back into the drain and took a cursory look around the small compartment. Rotting palm fronds, crushed beer cans, and whatever other debris had been cleansed from the streets by the afternoon storm floated listlessly in the scummy water. The cement chamber branched into a large corrugated steel pipe about four feet in diameter that seemed to twist off infinitely in both directions.

  Twiki was completely gone. Lost somewhere beneath the city of Stillwater. Erik knew that, but it didn’t cause him too much concern. Twiki had gotten lost before, and a few days later she’d always show up again-skinny, hungry, and with her fur matted with blood, none of which was hers.

  His memories were suddenly interrupted by the sound of an Aerostar pulling up on the street above, followed immediately by the sound of a slamming door and a furious shout.

  “Holy Christ, Debbie! You’re bleeding! What happened to your face?!” an unfamiliar, burly voice hollered. “Harry! You’re soaking wet! And you’re dirty as shit! What in the hell is going on around here?! Who’s watching you?! Where’s that toy geek at?!”

  Erik’s eyes popped into saucers.

  “Oh … shit, ” he murmured.

  Erik had always known that the first time he met Richard Stokes face-to-face would be unpleasant, but he never dreamed it would be quite like this. He cringed and backed up into the dark shadows of the corrugated steel drainage pipe. Maybe Stokes would just assume that he was in the store … or that he’d gone home. Maybe he would leave without incident.

  “He’s in the hole, Daddy!” Debbie sang. “He’s looking for my kitty!”

  “He’s down in … the shitter? What kind of freakjob is this guy?” Stokes snarled, leaning over the manhole. “Hey, toy geek! You down in the shitter? Get your ass up here! I’d like to have a word with y’all.”

  The tone of Richard Stokes’s voice had all the pleasant subtlety of a spiked club pounding into a skull. Erik slumped and bowed his head. This was not going to be pretty.

  “Well,” he sighed, “I guess everybody’s gotta die someday.” He put his hands on the damp rungs to begin his fateful ascent when he noticed a pair of reflective eyes peering at him from the mouth of the corrugated steel tunnel. He bent down and squinted into the shadows.

  “Holy crap, it’s Twiki!” he smiled. “Come here, kitty!” He splashed through the brown water to the pipe, grasping his lost pet by the furry scruff of her neck and lifting her up.

  “Oh Twiki, that’s a good kitty kityaaaAAGH!” he screeched.

  As soon as he pulled the creature into the dim moonlight he realized that it wasn’t his cat at all, but the fattest, most virulent-looking sewer rat that he had ever seen. He screamed like a girl, dropped the rat, and tumbled backward into the pipe on the opposite side of the cube. He splashed himself out of the puddle and back onto his feet, wiped his rat-dirtied fingers on his runoff-dirtied pants, then wiped his runoff-dirtied hand on the wall.

  “Ew! Ew! Gross! Gross! Gross!”

  While Erik wigged out, the rat remained perched on its haunches, lurking in the darkness of the pipe. It cocked its head to the side and stared at Erik as if questioning his sobriety.

  “It was just one strawberry daiquiri, ” Vivian moaned. “I still think I’m okay for drive.”

  “You’re okay for drive?” Nick asked skeptically.

  “I’m okay to drive,” Vivian corrected. “I’m okay for driving. ”

  “Lady, I don’t think you’re either one,” Nick smiled. “Look, we’re already halfway there, so there’s really no point in arguing about it anymore. Just give it up and relax for once in your life. I’ll have you home in like, five more minutes.” Vivian crossed her arms moodily and settled back in the black and orange passenger seat of the Fusion Fuel Hummer. Although Nick was in the driver’s seat, the two of them were separated by a two-foot-wide tower of steel that housed the vehicle’s elevated drivetrain. The car customizers had attempted to hide this barrier beneath black leather upholstery and a plethora of Fusion Fuel bottle holders, but it still divided the Hummer’s east and west sides as subtly as the Berlin Wall. This was just fine with Vivian, as she was in no mood to be any closer to Nick than she had to be right now.

  What was she even doing here? She knew that she was perfectly capable of driving herself home, and she didn’t care what Nick or the valet had to say about it. She glared angrily across the vehicular fortification at her date’s face, but his features were hazy and indistinct. Fear flashed through her as she realized that she had lost her glasses, but a clumsy exploratory grope of her lenses proved that she had in fact only lost her vision. A scowl of recognition slid numbly across her face. She didn’t know which was more humiliating-being too drunk to drive after one daiquiri or losing an argument to Nick.

  “Well, how am I supposed to get my car tomorrow?”
she asked defeatedly.

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Vivian grumbled. “You haven’t stopped trying to pick me up since we met.”

  Nick shook his head with a long, patient sigh.

  “Tell me, Vivian Gray,” he said, “what are you going to do when we get back to your apartment?”

  “Go to bed,” Vivian answered. “Alone.”

  “And that’s going to make you happy, is it?”

  “Well, I’ll be happy to have this day over with, that’s for sure. It’s been nothing but miserable from start to finish.”

  Nick threw her a sideways glance.

  “I had a really good time with you tonight too.”

  His tone cut through her like a guilty knife. There was nothing sarcastic or hurtful in his inflection-that hardly would have fazed her at all. Instead the words came out with a sort of dull, chastening timbre, like when your mother catches you doing something you know is stupid and says that she is “very disappointed” in you.

  “I’m sorry, Nick,” she backpedaled. “I didn’t mean it like that. The date was fine. I’m really sorry that I got us kicked out of the restaurant. I was having a really good time.”

  Nick looked at her with a doubtful smile.

  “No you weren’t.”

  “No,” Vivian admitted, “I wasn’t. Everyone in that restaurant treated me like dirt just because I didn’t drive the right car or wear the right clothes. They judged me entirely by my appearance.”

  Nick nodded.

  “And you wanted them to look past all that and just appreciate you for your mind?”

  “Yes,” Vivian said. “Exactly.”

  “And so you tried to use your mind to blow up their restaurant?” Vivian sank in her seat.

  “Touché.”

  She looked sleepily out the window and down the shallow bluff toward the moonlit water of the bayside below. A shadow of longing passed silently over the back of her mind.

  “So taking you to the Banyan Terrace wasn’t exactly your kind of scene,” Nick acknowledged. “But what exactly is your scene, Vivian?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you didn’t go out with me tonight, where would you have gone?” Vivian glanced at Nick, then back toward the lonely beach. She bit her lip in silent debate.