Pulling Teeth

by Alan Ryker

  Marcus says, "What the fuck? Get off me! Hey!"

  Carla and I look at each other. I say, "Poor man?"

  Carla is abashed, but recovers quickly. "Yes, poor man. He obviously has mental problems, but was minding his own business until Marcus stuck a camera in his face."

  I learned long ago not to argue with Carla about the homeless. I nod. The sound of scuffling and shouting continues briefly, then we're back in Leroy's shack. Leroy says, "What the hell were you thinking? You knew what he was, and you walk right up to him and start poking him with a stick. Are you crazy?"

  "I didn't expect him to bite me." Marcus lifts his forearm and shows the camera the deep, crescent shaped cuts on each side.

  Leroy says, "He would have taken that arm off if we hadn't saved your dumb ass. By the way, my friends don't want you coming around again." Leroy searches through a folded stack of clothing until he finds a black t-shirt. He rips it and ties it over the cut.

  Marcus asks, "Do you think I should get stitches?" He flexes his fingers on camera, as if checking to see if any tendons were cut.

  Leroy says, "How have you survived this long? If you have the money or insurance, of course you should get stitches. And a tetanus shot. Those things fucking eat people. Who knows what diseases they carry?"

  Marcus flexes his hand over and over, turning it back and forth. "I can't believe he bit me."

  The file ends there. I click on the next. We're outside Leroy's shack. Marcus knocks on the door. Leroy opens the door a crack and peers out, but a moment later Bozo presses his nose, then his head, then his shoulders through the gap. He runs twenty yards before he turns back and begins barking. Leroy steps out and closes the plywood door behind him. He says, "It's not a good day to shoot."

  Marcus asks, "What's going on?"

  "It's just not a good day. I'm not at your damn beck and call."

  "No problem, man. I'm not pushing. But there's something I want to talk to you about."

  Leroy says, "How many times do you need to hear 'it's not a good day' before you understand that it means 'Get the fuck out of here?'"

  "Listen, I think you need help. I've talked to some people, and they said they could get you the help you need."

  Leroy rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, and what sort of help do I need?"

  Marcus doesn't say anything for a moment. Bozo's barking echoes. I try to imagine how loud it must have been there in the tunnel. "You need to be on medication. Have you ever been institutionalized?"

  Leroy smiles. "So you want to help me. You and your camera there, you mean. You offer charity on camera for your little movie. 'Rich Kid Saves Crazy Mole-Man.' What a headline."

  Marcus says, "You think it's about this? It's not about this. Here." He drops the camera, but doesn't turn it off. It hangs on its strap, swaying. At one point in every arc it shows big Bozo, barking so hard his feet bounce up off the dirt ground. As the tunnel sways back and forth, I start to see ghosts in the darkness.

  Carla says, "Look at the way he's exploiting Leroy."

  I say, "What do you mean?"

  "Leroy thinks he turned the camera off."

  "Marcus never said he turned the camera off."

  Carla cocks up that damn eyebrow again. "You'd better not be defending him. Whenever Marcus is involved, it's like you regress ten years."

  Leroy says, "So you think you know me pretty well. You figure you've got me pegged pretty neat. You condescending, over-privileged son of a bitch. You walk right up to one of them, get bitten, I save you, and you still don't see the truth. But I'm the crazy one? Turn your camera back on. Let me explain it to you so you'll understand." In a blur, Leroy and the exterior of the shack come back into view. "They've never come down here before. They've never found their way, I imagine. I imagine they'd like to, because down here they wouldn't have to wait until night and until we wander into some alley. Well, one finally made it down. We trapped it. The others wanted to kill it, but I told them we needed to study it."

  Marcus pans the camera around the dark tunnel. As the camera's light passes, the silhouettes of dozens of people can be made out, their eyes glinting. Bozo barks and barks. "Show me."

  Carla shouts at the screen, "Get out of there, you idiot!" I can only watch, in awe of his bravery and stupidity.

  Marcus follows Leroy into his shack. Mon-Mon is backed into a corner, snarling at a young woman kneeling in the opposite corner. Marcus's camera freezes on her as he takes in the situation. She's hog tied, her hands and ankles knotted together. She's wearing almost nothing, and the little clothing she is wearing, a make-shift skirt and a tattered t-shirt, is twisted and torn. Her mouth is being forced open by a thick piece of dowel—maybe a broken broomstick—that's been tied tightly into place by a strap around her head. It's tied so tightly that her head tilts back from the strap pressing into her spine just under the base of her skull. Her lips stretch away from her teeth, which unnerve me, though Marcus isn't close enough to show them clearly. Her face is distorted, but I can see she has the same model good looks of the man who bit Marcus. Her skin is too flawless for her to have been on the street long. Her hair is long and blond. Her limbs are slender.

  Marcus finally says, "What are you doing? Are you insane?"

  Leroy says, "Look at her. Forget your assumptions and look at her. Look at her teeth. Look at her eyes. Touch her skin."

  Marcus says, "Leroy, this is just a girl. This is a young woman." He walks towards her, keeping the camera on her. She's calm. If she struggled before, she knows it's pointless now.

  Leroy says, "She eats rats!"

  "How does she eat rats?"

  "We feed them to her. But she gobbles them down whole like candy. She eats the damn bones."

  Marcus reaches for a long knife sticking out of a bucket full of soapy water and dishes. The room spins past the screen and settles behind him. He says, "Stay back! I'm taking her."

  The camera swings past the young woman's face several times, and her expression never changes.

  Leroy says, "Just take a second to look at her."

  "I won't send the cops down here. Just let me take her and you won't ever see us again." The camera shakes back and forth as Marcus works, apparently cutting her free. He stands. "Don't try to stop us. People know where I am."

  Marcus steps out into the tunnel and begins walking quickly. The camera bounces around. He's leading the girl by the hand. After a few seconds someone yells, "Stop him!"

  Leroy says, "No! Let them go."

  Someone shouts, "She'll come back. She'll bring more."

  Leroy says, "If you touch him, we'll all have to leave anyway. Let them go."

  The voices get quieter as Marcus runs down the dark tunnel, Freedom Tunnel. Glimpses of graffiti lit from above spin past the screen. Eventually they surface in Riverside Park.

  Marcus says, "Are you okay? Oh, the gag. Here, let me… Do you want to go to the police? I don't know if they'll help you."

  There's a pause. The ground sliding across the screen goes from concrete to grass.

  "Are you okay?"

  Silence.

  "They kidnapped a handicapped girl? Goddamn it. Listen, I can't help you. Stay away from the tunnel." He walks away, then turns. "You can't stay here. They'll come get you again. Goddamn it!"

  He grabs his camera from where it hangs and shows himself for the first time. He looks terrified. My throat closes up as I pray to God nothing has happened to him. Behind him, people play Frisbee in the sunny park. Behind him, a dog stops fetching and snarls. He asks us, "What would you do? Huh?" He turns the camera and shows her standing in the grass, motionless, staring at him. "Goddamn it." Then the file ends.

  I start the next one. Marcus has set the camera on a tripod. He's standing in front of it. He says, "I didn't know what to do with her. I couldn't leave her there. They would have gotten her again and done God-knows-what to her. I knew Leroy was a little off, but this…" He shakes his head. "I had no idea. I can't take her to the police. She needs help.
They'll put her right back out on the street. Someone like her would get chewed up. Hell, the next people might not be as sane as Leroy. Is it wrong to say that beautiful people can't live on the street? So I brought her here, until I can get her help."

  He steps behind the camera and pans his apartment, past the framed original comic book art, the big stereo system, the mounted skateboard deck collection, finally stopping on her standing in front of his tan leather couch. She's wearing one of his polo shirts and a pair of pants far too big for her. He walks over to her. "Here, sit down." He sits, and she sits beside him. He looks at her, then at the camera. She looks at him. He points a remote at the camera, clicks a button and the file ends.

  Marcus stares into the camera again. The date shows that it's been four days. I remember calling him, trying to get him to leave his apartment during that time, and he wouldn't. His eyes shimmer watery and red from their sockets. The strangest thing is, I don't remember him ever shooting himself before. He was never the subject of his films or photographs. He said that as the artist, he was felt throughout the work, was the subject of the work without ever being in the work.

  "I don't know what's going on, but there is something strange about the girl. She doesn't sleep. At least, she doesn't close her eyes. She stands all night long, staring. She doesn't talk. If I ask her a question, she smiles and nods or shakes her head. But her eyes never change, never stop watching. She watches and watches and watches and… I can't sleep with her here. Last night I locked myself in the bathroom and fell asleep in the tub. I woke up when she busted the door open. I think she's waiting for me to fall asleep, but I can't send her away."

  He takes a long drink from a coffee mug and then grabs the camera, removing it from the tripod. The room spins until we settle on the girl, who'd been standing opposite him the entire time.

  "Look at her." She stares into the camera as it zooms in. The room behind her is only dimly lit, and she reflects the light oddly. Her skin is more matte than normal skin.

  In a sweet tone, Marcus asks, "What do you want?"

  Her face fills the screen. She smiles and nods. Her teeth are perfect squares, and dry. Nothing in her face is slack. Her flesh is perfectly molded and taut.

  He asks, "Who are you?" She continues to smile.

  "Who are you?!" Her eyes go strange, blank, for just a moment.

  I pause the video and ask, "Did you see that?"

  Carla says, "What?"

  "Her eyes." I rewind the video. I flip back and forth over the frame. It doesn't last more than a fraction of a second. Her eyes are normal; her eyes are blank; her eyes are normal.

  Carla says, "It looks like they rolled up into her head for a second."

  But I can't help but think that, like a shark before it strikes, she blinked with an extra lid. I don't say anything. I just hit play.

  Marcus says, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm losing it." He sets the camera on the table and walks over to her. The image is of them from the neck down. Comparing their heights, she looks to be close to six foot. He takes her hands. Then he puts his arms around her. A tiny spasm goes through her body, a clenching and unclenching, and she opens and closes her hands where he can't possibly see them. I wish I could see the expression on her face.

  The next several video files have matching time and date stamps. They were shot at the same time. I open the longer one. Marcus leans into the camera and whispers. "I have to go out. She's eaten everything in the house. But I have to know what she's doing, and I can't take her with me. So I'm leaving my camera on." He turns to her and says, "I'll be back soon. Just hang out here. Watch TV if you want." Then silence. The girl rotates towards the off-camera door. The door shuts. She stays where she is. I fast forward. She stays where she is. One hour. Two. When Marcus enters the frame, I jump. He drops the bags of groceries and stares at her. He puts his arms around her and buries his face in her neck. He looks at her again and shakes his head, then walks to the window and leans out. He slumps to the floor.

  I click on one of the concurrent video files. This one is low-quality, maybe from his pocket digital camera. It's of a homeless woman standing beside a tree. She searches the crowd passing her, and I get the feeling she's not searching only with her eyes. She's tall and athletic and dressed in rags, and the people walking past give her space.

  Marcus says, "I just bought groceries. I start walking back the same way I came, and I see this. She looks just like her."

  It's true. I can see the similarities. But most of all, she moves in the same strange way. Marcus begins to walk towards her when she notices him and locks on. She walks towards him, but perpendicular to him as well, maintaining the exact same distance. It's a strange sort of dance. He passes her and walks backwards, and, completely unconcerned that he's watching her do it, she begins to follow after him.

  Marcus walks backwards for some time, then says, "Shit—" and the world spins and the camera goes black. He must have tripped.

  Carla says, "What a jackass."

  I ask, "You didn't notice anything strange about her?"

  "She needs mental treatment, like a lot of homeless in the city."

  I'd thought the similarities were obvious, but maybe my perceptions are being shaped by Marcus's paranoia.

  Because she knows me too well, Carla says, "Conspiracy theories are contagious. You start looking for pieces of the puzzle, and suddenly everything fits."

  I click the next file. Marcus holds his video camera out the window, showing the people walking down the sidewalk directly outside his apartment building. But some of them aren't walking past, but back and forth, milling, circling—No, they're just hanging around like people who have no place to go tend to do—except they keep their eyes on the door.

  Marcus asks, "How long until they decide to come in?"

  They don't posture. They don't pose. So maybe they're just normal people who happen to be standing outside his building. That's the obvious answer, the sane answer. But there's another possibility. Maybe their brains are so primordial that they don't have the displays of aggression we have. Maybe they don't pound their chests and bellow. Maybe they wait and wait and then attack. Unlike us, maybe they only bare their teeth before they bite.

  Back in the apartment, the girl stands and watches. As Marcus enters the frame, I realize the camera is on a tripod. He moves slowly, non-threateningly. He cups her chin in one hand, running the fingertips of his other down her cheek. He gently pulls her upper lip up and leans in, examining her teeth. I can see him consciously relaxing his tense muscles, trying not to set her off. He says, "My God."

  She blinks and he jumps away, but she stays otherwise motionless. I'm leaning forward.

  He walks back over to her and raises her arms over her head.

  Carla says, "What is he doing?"

  She knows what he's doing. He lifts his polo shirt over her head. Her long hair trails up in the shirt and then cascades down over her shoulders. She wears no bra. Perfect is the only way to describe her body. He runs his hands over her stomach, then turns and pulls at his hair. His eyes are wide.

  Carla gets up and walks away. "I can't watch this."

  The girl watches Marcus as he begins to unclasp her belt, when his buzzer goes off. I say, "Hey Marcus, it's David. Let me up."

  Carla gasps and walks back to the couch. "What? You never—"

  I say, "I had no idea. This is when he freaked out on me."

  Marcus runs off-camera towards the door. "David, get out of here."

  "What are you talking about, man? I just made this new poster I want to show—"

  Marcus bellows, "Get the fuck out of here! Go!"

  My confusion comes through the intercom static. "What?"

  "Now!"

  I pause the video. "So that's what was happening. He was trying to save me."

  Carla scoffs. "You interrupted him raping this girl during a psychotic episode. That fucker. I'm calling the cops."

  "I was right there. Those things saw me. They heard
me talk to him."

  Carla says, "What are you talking about? You're telling me you're buying this? He's crazy. He admitted he hadn't slept for five days. Do you know what that will do to you? It will literally make you schizophrenic. He lost it. I'm sorry for him, but he's flipped, and we have a video of him assaulting and possibly raping a mentally-handicapped homeless girl. Come back to earth, David."

  As Carla yells, Marcus leads the shirtless girl off-screen. A minute later the camera moves, showing us the scene out on the street.

  She stands in the middle of them, half-naked, unmoving, unblinkingly staring up at the window. Her unbuckled pants hang low as she holds them up with one hand. Now they're all staring up at the window, up at him. Twenty homeless people with their eyes fixed on the camera. He zooms in on her upturned face until it fills the screen. It's grainy at that distance. Marcus quietly says, "I'm sorry." Then he turns the camera on himself.

  "I don't have much time. The cops should show up soon to take her away. Hopefully they'll make the shark-men leave. It's the only chance I've got. David—" He pauses for a long time, eventually looking away from the camera. "—I hope I'll see you again. Be careful. In fact, get out of the city."

  The file ends. That's it.

  I say, "So what do we do now?"

  Carla says, "We take this to the police. This evidence of his mental instability might get them to take our missing-person report seriously."

  I say, "Yeah. That makes sense." But I'm not sure it does. I can't process what I've seen. What really happened to Marcus? If only I could have seen the girl in person. "Carla, what if he was right? What if there really are shark-men?"

  I can see that she's trying to maintain her patience. "You do know that that was the suggestion of a mentally-disturbed homeless man who did his research at a public library. Let me give you some alternate possibilities: what if they were cyborgs from the future? What if they were aliens? What if they really were subjects of a government super-soldier experiment? What if the super-soldier serum drove people of only the Scandinavian ethnic genotype crazy? Or, what if she just had friends, or family, who managed to track her down? Or what if those were just people standing in the street as people do in a city of millions? What if they all stared up at his window because he dragged a half-naked girl outside and then leaned out that window to videotape their reactions?"