Die, Brony, Die

by Paul Neuhaus

Right off, I got the weird feeling I knew her.

  “Yeah. I’m Dora. What’s wrong? You lose your peepaw? There’s a lifeguard station over there.”

  The girl talked really, really fast—like she was hopped up on goofballs (which, I found out later, she was). “I’m Keri. I need your help. My dad’s missing and I don’t know where he is. Which is weird—like really weird—since his food and his Xbox are at home. I don’t think I’ve gone like half a day without seeing him since I came out of the womb. Which is not to say he’s overprotective, he’s just always around—except in the last few days. Like I said. Also, the last time I talked to him, he said to me, ‘Keri, I’ve found magic. Real magic and I don’t have to wish anymore.’ Which is a really weird thing to say—especially apropos of nothing which is how he did it. Anyway, I’m getting worried.”

  I sighed and resumed walking toward the trailer. “Well, Keri, I don’t know how any of that’s my problem. Do I look like a cop to you? Is there a P.I. shingle hanging over my door? I don’t do missing persons.”

  “I know. My uncle said you’d say that. He told me you’d say, ‘I don’t do missing people. Just like that. He even did an impersonation of you which, now that I meet you, was pretty accurate.”

  For the time being, it didn’t register that, if the uncle in question could do an impersonation of me, he must’ve known me at some point. “What’d he tells you to say after I said it? To, you know, get me on your side.”

  “He didn’t. He’s kind of a fuck-up. Not as big a fuck-up as my dad, but they do share the same blood. Actually, correction, he used to be the lesser of the two fuck-ups, but then he got himself a head injury, so now he’s the bigger of the two fuck-ups, but, to be honest, it’s still a tight race. He—my uncle, not my dad—got beaned by a foul ball. And it wasn’t even at a major league game. It was at a triple-A game. Such a fucking waste. He can’t count past fifty. And he doesn’t remember anything before 1998. But I digress. Am I talking too fast?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m thinking too slow. It’s your world. I’m just living in it.”

  Keri stopped, and, for some reason, I stopped with her. “Was that sarcasm?” she said. “I’m not good with sarcasm. I can’t pick it out. I have trouble reading people. My mom—who’s also a fuck-up—says I’m hella Aspergers, but she never took me to see anyone that could tell us for sure. So, I say to people, ‘I think I might be Aspergers’ and they’re all like, ‘Yeah. No shit,’ so maybe I am and maybe I’m not.”

  “I don’t do missing persons, and I don’t do psychiatric evaluations. If you want my opinion, I’d say, ‘Yeah, you might be hella Aspergers’, but I’m a layperson, so, you know, take it with a lick of salt. Is there anything else I can help you with, Keri? I’m hella tired, and, if I don’t get some shut-eye, I’m gonna die.”

  Keri crinkled her nose. “You won’t die. You’ll go psychotic first. Sleep deprivation turns people into raving lunatics before it kills them. I saw on the news once about this dude that stopped sleeping. After like a week, he thought he was Ross from Friends. Remember that show? I don’t know why he chose to be the dorky guy instead of the snarky guy or the dumb, good-looking guy. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Dulls the senses."

  “Maybe. Do you wanna be here when I turn into Ross from Friends? I’ve got weapons in the trailer. Ross with a battle-ax is a bad scene.” I resumed walking.

  “I know you’re a Mythnik,” the girl said to my back.

  I didn’t even stop. I just looked over my shoulder at her. “So?” I replied. “Our days of lurking in the shadows are over, I think. Like a day and half ago, I accidentally let all the dead out of the Underworld. I imagine that must’ve raised an eyebrow or two.”

  “That was you?” The girl said, impressed. “They’re calling it fake news. A Chinese hoax. The president said it was just a bunch of lost Mexicans.”

  “Whatever. You are knowing I’m a Mythnik doesn’t give you any leverage. It’s not like I’m a Deep Cover Operative or something.”

  Under my arm, Hope cooed at the term “Deep Cover Operative”.

  “Oh, I wasn’t trying to put one over on you. My uncle told me you were a Mythnik, and that you knew my dad.”

  Okay. That stopped me in my tracks. I missed the first uncle reference, but the second was too specific not to register. “Did you say your dad’s name a minute ago? What’s your dad’s name?”

  “Elijah. Elijah Wiener.”

  Shit. That did it. If I hadn’t found the wooden stairs in front of my door, I’d’ve fallen down. As it was, I planted my butt so hard on the middle step, my teeth chattered.

  Elijah.

  Keri.

  The uncle. Uncle Jack to be exact.

  There I was looking smack-dab at my past—or at least a past that might’ve been. I grew flush and my vision swirled. I was not only overwhelmed, I was embarrassed and overwhelmed.

  Keri rushed over to me. “Hey, are you okay? You don’t look okay. Was it something I said? Are you sick?”

  My sudden attack of vertigo bothered Hope too. “Dora, your heart rate’s way up. Your breathing is shallow. Close your eyes and take some deep breaths.”

  “I’m okay,” I insisted, even though I still wasn’t sure. I stood on wobbly legs and put my hand on the doorknob. “I just need a drink of water. And a sit down.”

  “Okay, okay,” the teenager said, concerned. “Here, let me help you.” She put her hand on the small of my back, and I opened the door. What I saw when I looked inside sure as hell didn’t help my heart rate or my breathing.

  I saw Hermes, the messenger god, on all fours wearing a black leather diaper. He was also wearing a leash and he had a red rubber ball stuck in his mouth. Behind him was a dominatrix. She was wearing a black leather bikini and a black leather mask with zippers over the eyes and mouth. She was whipping Hermes with a cat-o-nine-tails.

  I slammed the door shut and turned to Keri, my face flushed. “Wrong trailer!”

  Keri Wiener and I waited outside until, finally, the dominatrix left. She was wearing street clothes and carrying a big duffel. She looked at us and without an ounce of shame, got into her BMW. A sign on the driver’s side door said, “Mistress Sheba: Discreet Humiliations”. A minute later, Hermes opened the door. He was all smiles. “Come in, come in,” he said. We were supposed pretend what just happened hadn’t just happened. I wanted to lay into him (I explicitly told him, ‘No Whores’), but Keri being there reined me in.

  I walked into the trailer and put Hope down on the desk. I looked around to make sure nothing was out of place and gave Hermes a stern look, so he’d know he wasn’t out of the woods.

  Keri came in behind me. I didn’t forget my duties as hostess. “Hermes, this Keri. Keri, this is Hermes.”

  Hermes held out his hand and Keri shook it. “Hello, Keri,” Hermes said. He cocked his head, seeing something in her face I hadn’t seen right away. “What’s your last name, Keri?”

  “Wiener,” the teen replied. “Keri Wiener.”

  Hermes stopped dead. He was still holding onto the girl’s hand and he wore a shocked expression. He’d done the math quicker than I had. “Elijah and Addie’s kid?”

  Keri tried to get her hand back, but Hermes wasn’t ready to let go. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  The Olympian released the hand and looked over at me. “Lucky guess,” he replied.

  I’d already gone to the sink and I was downing my second glass of water. Unfortunately, the drinking didn’t have the desired effect. My head was still pounding. I thought about checking the fridge for beer but decided that’d only make things worse. After a third glass, I went around the desk and plopped down hard on the chair.

  Keri was looking back and forth between Hermes and me. “Remember how I said I have trouble reading social cues? I think I just read one. What’s going on? And I don’t mean with the dominatrix. You I’ve heard of, obviously,” she said, pointing at me. She looked at Hermes. “You I just met. Yet you both seem to know some
dark secret about me and or my dad. Like we’re spies from a foreign country only he knows it and I haven’t found it out yet.”

  “That’d be rad,” Hope said.

  Hermes ignored her and sat down on the couch. He indicated Keri should do the same. “Have a seat,” he said. “I think it’s revelation time.” (I didn’t find out until way later, but he more than just the one revelation.)

  My panic centers fired again. “Revelation time? Why would it be revelation time? There’re no revelations here. It’s a revelation-free zone.”

  The teenager turned to Hermes and said, “My dad is missing. Has been for a couple of days. My uncle said Dora could help find him. I told Dora that and she got the dry heaves. Then we saw you in a diaper.”

  The Olympian’s eyes flashed with embarrassment almost too quickly to see. “This isn’t about diapers,” he said. “This is about the past.”

  I slit my eyes at Hermes and spoke to him through gritted teeth. “It’s about a dead past. A past we’re not gonna talk about.”

  “Oh, but I think we should talk about it. It’s a wound that’s never gonna heal unless we expose it to the light of day.”

  “Again. I beg to differ. It’s a wound that likes dark places. It heals best in the rot and the mildew.”

  Keri looked back and forth between the two of us. She was getting nervous herself. “Look. I don’t know what this little... pageant is you guys’re putting on, but I don’t want any part of it.”

  I raised a hand and indicated the girl. “See, Hermes? You’re frightening our guest.”

  “Oh, I’m not frightened,” Keri said. “Actually, strike that. I’m a little bit frightened, but what I am mostly is wondering if I’m wasting my time. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but the two of you might be goofballs.”

  The messenger god looked from me to the girl. “Oh, you’re not wasting your time. In fact, Pandora might be uniquely qualified to find your dad. After all, they were lovers for years.”

  I did a face palm.

  Wiener’s head pivoted toward me, lightning fast. “Whoa, fer real?”

  “Totally,” Hermes said. “They were like toast and jam. Beer and nuts.”

  “How is that possible?” Keri said. “You’re really, really hot. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty soft around the middle, but still, you’re really, really hot. You’re hot and my dad’s a complete dork-wad.”

  “That was his best trait,” I said through the hand that still covered my face.

  The teen nodded. “I think I understand.”

  I looked around the hand. “You do?”

  “Some good-looking guys go after fat chicks. Chubby chasers they’re called. You must be like that only, instead of fat chicks, you chase after dork-wads.”

  I sighed and lowered my hand into my lap. “That’s not how it was.”

  Hermes spoke, drawing the girl’s attention back to him. “No, they were really into one another. It was legit. But then it went south, and nothing was ever quite the same.”

  Keri turned back to me. Watching her was like watching someone at a tennis match. “What happened?”

  I scowled. “Your dad can’t hold his liquor.”

  Back to Hermes. “Elijah got drunk and knocked-up a cocktail waitress.”

  Keri sighed. “Lemme guess... That was more or less fifteen years ago.”

  “Give or take,” I replied.

  “Right,” Hermes added. “Dora kicked around for a while acting like nothing was wrong, and then wham! It caught up with her. She became a total recluse.”

  I glared at the Olympian, wishing he’d burst into flames. “Thanks for the exposition, Dr. Phil. Also, for the grotesque oversimplification. I love having my life reduced to a dime store novel.”

  Hermes shrugged. “I’m oversimplifying but I’m not wrong.”

  “Wow,” Keri said, her eyes huge. “That’s amazing. I wouldn’t have thought my dad could have that effect on anyone. Much less a hot girl.”

  “I’m not proud of it,” I murmured. “Anyway, I guess you can see why I can’t help you.”

  Unfortunately, Keri couldn’t see that at all. Her shoulders drooped, and she frowned. “Oh. You can’t? Hermes said you were uniquely qualified.”

  “Sure, but Hermes’ brain's choked with pop culture psychology and Internet porn.”

  “Ouch,” the god said.

  I shot him a look that said, really?

  He shot me a look back that said, guilty as charged. But then, against all reason, he kept talking. “This could be good for you, Dora. You’ve kept it bottled-up inside for such a long time; you need to let it out. You need to be free. Even if you don’t get closure, I know you wouldn’t want Elijah coming to harm. Do this, Dora. For yourself as much as Keri.”

  Keri looked at me and smiled. “I like him,” she said. “He’s really melodramatic.”

  I looked at the two of them for a long time then I sighed and stood. I couldn’t believe what came out of my mouth next. “Lemme shower and put on clean clothes.”

  Grinning, Keri turned to Hermes and said, “Thanks for the assist. This is gonna be more fun than Jellybelly’s Happy-time Petting Zoo.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Hermes replied, matter-of-factly.

  I stood in the shower and let the water wash over me. I should’ve expected Elijah to come back into my life. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after thousands of years of living, it’s that loose ends have a way of tightening. But why now? Why this?

  Hermes was right. Elijah had been the reason I’d gone into my long seclusion. At first, I didn’t want to admit it, and then I resorted to lying about it—to myself and to anybody that cared enough to ask. I’m a big girl; I’ve got a lot of mileage under my belt. Little things like a fractured love affair weren’t supposed to matter as much as that one had. And now, predictably, here it was back again, staring me in the face.

  I got out of the shower, dried myself off, and wiped the fog away from the mirror. When I could see my face, I said to my reflection, “Snap out of it, dummy.”

  With my short hair still wet, I went back into the combined kitchen-office-living room. “Okay,” I said. “We’re gonna see what we can see for the rest of the day. After that, if we haven’t turned anything up, we’re gonna reevaluate this arrangement—and, by that, I mean you guys’re gonna fuck off and leave me alone.” I tried to sound tough. I tried to convince myself I meant it. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, so I decided “gruff Dora” was the way to go.

  Hermes and Keri looked at one another. “Deal,” they said in unison.

  “I assume you’re gonna stay here?” I said to the Olympian. He nodded. “Okay. I need two things from you while I’m gone. One: I need you to watch Hope. Two: I need you not to do any weird sex stuff.”

  “I can handle that.”

  “Really? ‘Cause that’s what you said the last time. I’m gone less than a day, and I come back and Mistress Sheba’s giving you the full Marquis de Sade.”

  The Wiener girl looked away, trying to pretend she wasn’t standing right next to such an awkward conversation.

  Hermes raised his finger, and what I called his lawyer side came out. “Ah, to be fair, you said ‘no whores’. Mistress Sheba’s not a whore. She’s a licensed professional.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “How specific do I need to be to get you to not brothel up my place?”

  Hermes raised three fingers and straightened his spine. “No freakiness while you’re gone. Scout’s honor.”

  I glared at him, so he’d understand I was being dead serious. He didn’t flinch. “Okay,” I said to Keri. “Let’s go find your dad.”

  Keri popped up off the couch and followed me.

  While I was still half in and half out, Hermes said, “Dora...” I turned to him and he added, “You know I think the world of you, right?”

  It was a weird thing for him to say apropos of nothing, but nice, I guess.

  We got in
the Firebird and, of course, Keri immediately started talking. “Okay. My pop has a pattern. He goes over into Westwood to the same bagel place every morning. He likes the Everything Bagel with a schmear or—sometimes—lox. After that, he goes to the comic book store, picks up his holds and sees if there’re any new Pokémon cards. After that, he stops for a slushy. The blue kind. Each time, without fail, he drinks it too fast and gets a brain freeze—which he then complains about even though it’s nobody’s fault but his own. If he’s feeling outdoorsy, he might sit on a bench for a while and watch the cars go by, but mostly he just comes home after the slushy. When he gets home, he—”

  I put one hand over my right ear and waved her down with the other. “Hold up. Hold up. Hold up. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it my way. Rule number one: Less talking. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you can say the things you’re saying with way less words. Rule number two: Slow it down. I don’t know what you’re on—is it cartwheels? Is it footballs? Is it magnums? Is it whites? Is it powder? Crank? White crosses? Ice? Ups? Bennies? Splash? Crossroads?—Never mind, doesn’t matter. You need to take it from third gear to first. Mamma’s tired, and she can’t keep up with your prattling. Rule number three: We’re gonna stop for breakfast and enough caffeine to kill a small horse.”

  Keri blinked. “Rule three wasn’t a rule exactly. It was more of a declarative sentence.”

  “Shut up. My car, my rules. You got a picture of Elijah by any chance? How he looks today?”

  The girl gave me a sly look. “You don’t remember what he looks like? I would think you of all people would remember what he looks like.”

  I glared at her. My needle moved a tic into the red. “I haven’t seen him in fifteen years and, also, you don’t get to tease me about my past.”

  “Why? Because I was the unwanted child that ended the relationship with the man of your dreams?”

  That was a little harsh, I thought. Was she fucking with me after I’d agreed to help her? If it had been a dig, I decided not to acknowledge it. The last thing I wanted was to have a verbal spar with a woman-child. “Do you have a picture or not?”