Bad Man

by Dathan Auerbach

  Ben’s walk was more of a hobble as they moved along the overgrown grass shoulder between the trees and pavement. An old injury pestered for consideration with every step. The back of his right hand shimmered with a thin layer of sweat as he drew it away from his forehead. Shoulda gone sooner, Ben thought.

  Eric took long, exaggerated steps as he kept pace with his big brother, his feet stomping on tufts of grass and dry clods of dirt that exploded in brown plumes under his small feet. A quiet song drifted through his closed lips, one no doubt inherited from his mother. Ben had once asked if she had a song for everything; she’d said that she was working on it.

  Ben felt short fingers wrap around his wrist as Eric’s feet left the ground. “Don’t do that,” Ben said. He looked at his brother, who was hanging from his arm like a swing. Ben bent sideways to lower the boy’s feet back toward the earth. Eric laughed and then went limp, his hand slipping out of his brother’s.

  “Quit it…” Ben sighed, his back feeling like an old hinge as he moved his hands toward his brother. “You’re gonna stain your shirt.” Eric’s wrist felt thin and frail in Ben’s grip as he lifted his brother back to his feet. He spun Eric around and brushed the dirt and grass from his back. “C’mon,” Ben said, walking ahead.

  Eric whined as he held his arm out. “Hold hands,” he insisted. Ben obeyed, pulling Eric along. After a few more steps, Ben felt his shoulder jerk as Eric suddenly dug his heels into the dirt, his hand slipping out from Ben’s grip once again. The boy tumbled backward into the grass, where he lay laughing, long blades of sickly green tickling against his pale skin.

  “Gosh dangit, Eric!” Ben snapped. But Eric kept squirming, cackling each time he managed to slide his hand out of his brother’s and fall back into the boy-shaped impression in the dry grass. “That’s enough now!” Ben spat. He grabbed his brother’s wrist and pulled him upright. Eric sulked but accepted it after a while.

  The store was pretty much in the center of town, though the town was lopsided and sprawling, so its center depended on how it was measured. The company that built the store measured the center by population density. There were a fair number of neighborhoods near Ben’s, but beyond the store, the road and the town itself wound down into nothing.

  Trees and fields. Fields and trees. Those things counted as nothing to Ben anyway, even if they did seem to eat up the whole horizon. Ben stared long into the distance as he and Eric walked through the store’s parking lot, a flat carpet of asphalt that shimmered like it was wet on hot days like this one.

  There was nothing striking about the place other than how large it was. The enormous rectangular block sat in the flat town like it had been left there by mistake, dropped on the way to a larger, more bustling place. It was the biggest grocery store in town by far.

  As Ben tripped the sensor, the automatic doors rumbled and jerked awkwardly against their frame. With great effort, the bottoms of the doors ground against the metal track, and the whole opening shrieked like a sideways mouth. Ben could feel the screech in his cheekbones. And as it lingered, it seemed to crawl through the rest of his skull.

  “Jesus.” Ben ducked and turned his head. Even Eric seemed to notice Ben’s discomfort, though the boy looked at his big brother for only a moment before darting gnat-like around Ben as they entered the store.

  Eric had set his own course, which Ben worked vigilantly to correct. “We’ll get your candy at the checkout, bud.” Ben reflected on the absurdity of having to make deals with such a small boy, and he regretted promising Eric candy of all things, but there was no other currency with which the boy would trade. He’d give the sweets to him once they got home. Before long, his parents would be back, and it would be their responsibility to contain this tiny whirlwind. “C’mon, bud. I need to get some water in me,” Ben said, gently guiding Eric by his shoulder.

  Ben tugged at the bottom hem of his shirt again, trying to force some of the cool air between the fabric and his skin as they walked toward the back of the store. His headache seemed to grow worse with each step, like there was an invisible vise clamped around his skull, threatening to cave it in.

  “Cookies,” Eric pleaded, pointing behind himself toward the bakery.

  “Then no candy.”

  The small boy mulled the choice for a moment, huffed, then marched back toward Ben’s outstretched hand.

  Ben tousled Eric’s hair. “Stampie likes Reese’s Pieces better, I reckon.”

  “Yeah.” Eric smiled.

  The fountain was stingy. Without enough pressure to form an arc, the water seeped slowly down the metal bubbler. Ben placed his lips on the nozzle, the curved splash guard pressing against his cheek, and pulled the tepid water into his mouth. He put his hands on Eric’s waist and lifted him with a grunt so that the child could do the same. Water dripped down the little boy’s chin as Ben set him down. “You gotta use the bathroom?” Ben asked, gesturing toward the off-white door. Eric shook his head.

  As they walked the aisles, Ben chased his headache with the tips of his fingers. It had traveled from just above his ears to his temples, which he now rubbed while watching Eric bounce from one side of the aisle to the other. Ben lifted a can of green beans off the shelf and herded Eric to the next aisle.

  Ben’s arms were encumbered by the time they reached the checkout. Cans and boxes teetered and shifted in his crossed arms as they stood in the middle of a long line, the solitary cashier making polite chitchat as she swept barcodes across the scanner. Ben’s head split a little more with each piercing tone from the register, which only grew louder as the customers in front of him took their receipts. Eric reached up and tipped Stampie onto the conveyor belt among an elderly woman’s groceries.

  “Sorry,” Ben said, lifting his occupied arms a little to show the woman that he was unable to retrieve the toy.

  She smiled, plucking the rhino up by the horn. “Oh, bless his heart,” she said affectionately. “I reckon he better stay with you, sugar,” she said, bending down to hand him back to Eric.

  “Thanks, ma’am,” Ben offered.

  Eric pushed the toy back onto the belt as the line moved ahead. Finally, and with great relief, Ben let his cargo tumble onto the black conveyer belt. He snatched Stampie from the woman’s groceries and handed him back to Eric.

  “Quit it, okay?” he said softly.

  As Ben corralled the runaway cans, he felt a tug on the bottom of his shirt.

  “I gotta go pee,” Eric whispered.

  “No, you do not.”

  “I do too.”

  “I asked you not five minutes ago if you had to go,” Ben whispered.

  “But I gotta go now,” Eric said, pinching and pulling the crotch of his pants.

  The line moved forward while Ben looked from his brother to the people behind him. “You’re gonna have to hold it or else we’ll lose our place.”

  “I gotta peeeeee,” Eric protested.

  Ben craned his head toward the back of the store, trying to estimate the time it would take to make it to the bathroom and back.

  “You gotta go that bad? No foolin?”

  “No foolin.” Eric squirmed.

  “I can take him,” a man said through a beard so thick that Ben could see only hair moving when he spoke. He had warm eyes and a soft voice.

  “No. No, that’s alright. Thanks, though.”

  “No trouble in it, really,” the man replied, holding out two dollars. “Just get me this with the rest of your stuff?” He motioned to a loaf of bread in front of him on the conveyer.

  “I sure do appreciate it, mister,” Ben said as he returned the grocery burden to his arms, “but I better take him. C’mon, Eric.” The two brothers slid past the snake of a line. Ben stopped to dump his groceries at an empty register.

  “What about my Reesees?”

  Ben exhaled heavily through his nose. A spike of
pain surged from his knee as if it were reaching up to be with its mate in Ben’s skull. With uneven steps, Ben led Eric back toward the bathroom.

  By the time they got there, Eric was bawling. The door opened with a high groan, and the smell of bleach overpowered Ben’s nose. A black scar of mildew outlined the chipped porcelain sink. The urinal sat too high on the wall for Eric to reach, so Ben ushered him into the lone stall. It was too cramped for both of them, so Ben left the flimsy door open while he helped Eric with the button on his pants.

  “I can do it,” Eric protested.

  “Okay,” Ben said as he retreated. “Go ahead.”

  He glanced at the entrance to the restroom to see if there was a way to lock the door, but there was no bolt. Ben leaned against the stall’s frame. A man entered the restroom, nodded at Ben, pissed in the urinal, and then left without washing his hands.

  “I got it,” Eric said, as he began urinating with his pants piled against his shoes.

  “Good job, buddy,” Ben said. He turned the faucet on and splashed cold water against his face.

  “Oops,” Eric yelped.

  Ben stuck his head into the stall and saw Stampie floating in the dirty water. Ben sighed.

  “I can get him,” Eric said as he pulled his pants up. He reached one arm toward the rippling water, but Ben seized it quickly.

  “Go and stand over there,” Ben rumbled, pointing toward the sink.

  Eric grabbed his own fingers awkwardly and took his assigned position while Ben gingerly fished the stuffed rhino out of the toilet. He held it aloft and watched as several streams of water merged into one. Continuing to hold it at arm’s length, he pivoted on his heel and dropped the toy in the sink before turning on the faucet. Ben’s large fingers slid into the metal box on the wall where the paper towels should have been but found it to be only an empty shell.

  “Stay here.” Ben pointed at Eric firmly and then pushed open the wooden door. As it swung closed behind him, Ben pulled open the adjacent women’s restroom door. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone in here?”

  Hearing no response, Ben slunk in and quickly grabbed a handful of paper towels, kicking back at the door in an effort to keep it open. Paper towels in hand, he exited the room swiftly and again moved from one door to the other.

  “All clean!” Eric exclaimed as Ben walked in. Clutched in Eric’s small hands was Stampie, whose large eyes and slanted smile now looked sad as his fur sagged with water—water that dripped all the way down Eric’s arms. There were wet spots on his pants and shirt.

  “Jesus, Eric!” Ben shouted. Eric recoiled and drew Stampie in closer to his body. “No,” Ben said, snatching the toy from the kid’s grasp, “he isn’t clean, and now you ain’t neither.” The throbbing in Ben’s skull was pulsing audibly in his ears.

  “Don’t hurt ’im!” Eric shrieked.

  “I’m not gonna hurt him. I’m fixin to clean him.” He jammed the rhino aggressively against the soap dispenser.

  “You’re hurtin him!”

  “No, I’m not! He’s fine. See?” Ben snapped, pushing the toy in Eric’s face before moving it to the small waterfall in the sink.

  “Lemme do it!” Eric said, reaching up into the sink. “You’re bein mean. Lemme!”

  “It’s just a toy, Eric!”

  “No, he isn’t! You said!”

  Ben squeezed the water out of the creature and then wadded paper towels around it. Eric was still reaching up for the rhino when Ben struck the large silver button on the air dryer. The machine wheezed briefly before the steady whirr of hot air began.

  “I can do it!” Eric nagged, pulling on Ben’s forearms.

  “But you ain’t gonna!” Ben screamed. He could feel his headache in his teeth now. Christ, it hurt. This was taking so much longer than it was supposed to. Ben wondered if someone had put his groceries away by now. He’d have to collect them all again.

  “Gimme!” Eric cried, now yanking on Ben’s shirt and arm.

  “You’re not gettin any candy now.” Ben jerked his arm away and freed his shirt from his brother’s grasp. “Leave me alone!” Ben yelled.

  “No,” Eric whined, lingering on the vowel.

  With a click, the motor disengaged. Unable to tell the difference between dry and just warm, Ben had to wait a moment so the fabric could cool. He depressed the button again, the steady and boisterous hum of the dryer washing over his mind in the same way the air itself billowed and curled around the contours of his hands. He looked peripherally at his brother, who stood with a contorted and wet face in the exact spot where Ben had directed him.

  Ben placed his forehead against the cold tile on the wall, ignoring the black veins of grout. Eric couldn’t be blamed. Not really, anyway. He was just a boy—old enough to have preferences and desires, but too young to be expected to control or manage them. Whatever person he would become was still very much a work in progress. Any discord between their moods or temperaments could only be Ben’s fault.

  Ben forgot that sometimes. Too often he thought of Eric as being older than he really was, more in control.

  A chill rolled across Ben’s back and neck, and he felt the pressure inside his skull ease further. Stampie’s black eyes stared up at Ben, reflecting and distorting his own face. He looked older, heavier. His eyes were sunken and dark. A selfish forlornness tugged at Ben’s heart. He tried to place it, but he could not.

  Ben pushed the silver button again, savoring the white noise. He’d apologize, tell Eric it had all been a joke. There’d be candy after all. Isn’t big brother so funny?

  As the gale dwindled, Ben ran his fingers over the rhino. A faint mist launched from the ends of the fibers that he could only barely feel. “I’m sorry, bud,” Ben said, his words echoing. He rolled his head toward the sink. “Stampie’s just about—”

  But Ben was talking to empty space.

  “Bud?” he said, spinning around and pushing the door open into the stall behind him. Ben’s heart pounded and a warm wave crashed over the back of his neck. “Eric?”

  With trembling hands, he set Stampie on the lip of the sink and flung the door wide open. His eyes darted and stalled awkwardly as he tried to take in as much as possible while still being compelled to scan slowly so he could actually see what he was looking at.

  Disposable music leaked from speakers hidden in the ceiling. Ben’s feet moved briskly along the back aisle of the store, his head aimed unceasingly to the right, peering down each food-lined alley that whizzed past. His chest heaved.

  He stifled an impulse to call out, to yell for his brother at the top of his lungs. Because it wasn’t real yet. There was still hope. Screaming would make it real somehow. The door would open, the wind would carry the words, and this would all become a part of the world. He paced the aisles three times before his voice cracked.

  “Eric!” Ben shouted across the puzzled faces of leering customers.

  “Eric!” Ben shouted again, his pulse quickening, his mind doing its best to stave off disorienting panic. He’ll be down the next aisle, he reassured himself. He’ll be down the next aisle.

  A game. This is just a game, he tried to tell himself. He loves to play, so why not here? Why not in this place?

  “I’m gonna find you!” Ben attempted to yell, but only a whimper emerged as he shook his head.

  More empty aisles. More gawking strangers.

  Ben cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Olly olly oxen free!”

  Nothing.

  It’s okay. This was okay. Kids wander off all the time. “Eric!” Ben screamed.

  Wet tracks ran down Ben’s cheeks, but he wasn’t aware of them, or maybe he just ignored them. They weren’t real anyway. This was a dream. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. More customers turned now, their conversations ceasing.

  Ben found himself running,
his stomach bouncing uncomfortably. His left knee burned and stabbed at itself, threatening mutiny. Gracelessly, Ben dodged one customer and then another. A shopping cart collided with his midsection; his hands gripped the edges and flung it out of the way. Indecipherable curses pursued him as he bounded his way toward the front of the store. Colorful packaging caught his eyes as he approached the first register. Candy. He left for candy! Lane by lane Ben moved his eyes over the displays, expecting to see a small boy kneeling down gorging himself, his face half hidden behind a shimmering and wrinkled wrapper.

  At the end of the row, Ben found his groceries still spilled out across an unused conveyer belt. A sinking feeling took hold in his stomach. His eyes flashed from one end of the store to the other. Bakery. Frozen foods. Grocery. Pharmacy. From almost every section, eyes peered out at him, but none were the eyes that he wanted to see.

  The soles of Ben’s shoes squeaked against the tile as he approached the cashier from the line he had abandoned earlier. “Haveyouseenalittleboy?” Ben begged, raising his palm parallel to the ground to indicate height. The cashier shook her head as if she didn’t understand the question. Frustrated, Ben repeated himself more slowly, each pause feeling like precious time spent frivolously. Again the cashier shook her head, this time with comprehension. “Call him, please,” Ben said, his voice cracking as he turned away. “On the speakers!”

  Ben’s leg buckled briefly as he moved toward the store’s entrance.

  “Hey, what’s his name?” the cashier called after him.

  Ben turned back, his face wincing from pain and panic. “Eric!” he shouted.

  Ben moved as rapidly as he could toward the doors, which slowly opened as he approached. He misjudged the gulf between them, and they rattled as his large body struck their frames. “Would Eric please come to…”

  Several cars meandered around the parking lot. To his right two vehicles were leaving it altogether. He felt his body pull toward them, but his feet were planted right in front of the store. Anxious indecision filled his breast. Every place he didn’t check was a place that Eric could be. And every place he did check meant he wasn’t checking somewhere else. Every choice seemed wrong.