by L. L. Soares
The buzzing filled his ears, as the pain in his head got stronger. Then everything went numb.
The monkeys converged upon him again, brandishing their utensils. Howling.
The No! Place
When he pressed the lit end of the cigarette to the skin of her upper arm, Maryann went from the world of her dreams into the No! Place.
It was a transition she'd been making a lot lately; it was becoming easier and easier to do. The best part was it eliminated the need to wake up, to acknowledge what he was doing.
To him, it simply looked like she was sleeping too deeply to feel what he did, so he shifted on the bed and burned her inner thigh instead.
Maryann did not move. She was somewhere else entirely.
* * *
"Is it time yet?" Sister asked. She was gathering knives. She had been gathering them for a very long time and there were rows and rows of them along the walls, in specially made shelves with holes for blades of all shapes and sizes. There was a table in the middle of the room covered with myriad metal shapes and handles of all kinds, from the plain to the ornate.
"Not yet," Maryann said, watching as Sister sharpened the blades meticulously, one after another.
"I'm really tired of waiting, Maryann."
Despite the name, Sister had a peculiar ability to shift back and forth between her feminine and masculine identities. She shimmered, from one to the other, before deciding which one suited her that day. This time she chose her female self.
"What are you doing here, then?" she asked without looking up from her sharpening. "Have you come to torment me? To hold it just within my reach, and pull it away before I can claim it?"
"Be patient," Maryann told her. "It will happen soon."
"You've been saying that forever," Sister said. "Or at least it seems like forever. But then you leave and I'm left alone again, waiting for the next step that never comes."
"He's burning me now."
"I know. I can feel it, too, you know."
"Why does he do these things?"
"Because you let him," Sister said. "Let's not talk about this anymore. It's just pissing me off. We both know the answer is at your fingertips."
"No," Maryann said. "Not yet."
"The longer you take, the more knives I accumulate," Sister said. "The more blades I have to sharpen. When the time finally comes, I'll have to make it last a very long time to make it all worthwhile."
"I know."
Sister tossed back her long, curly, black hair. It moved with a life of its own, and Maryann was always too scared to look at it closely. She was afraid what she would find there. Instead, Maryann stared into Sister's eyes, but they were just as disturbing. Sister had large, segmented eyes. Insect eyes. They reflected a hundred tiny Maryanns back at her. Over time, Maryann had become adept at hiding her discomfort.
"Do you think he's done yet?" Maryann said. "Do you think he's grown bored with it all?"
"Give it a little longer. He has to go to work soon. Don't give him any satisfaction."
"If I don't go back soon, he might get angry. He might do worse things."
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Sister said. "Talking is such bullshit. We both know how this has to end."
"I know. I just can't do it yet."
"If you must stay, please be quiet. You can stand there and watch, but don't disturb me while I'm working. And don't touch anything."
"I know."
Sister did not say another word as she sharpened the knives, one after another. They were kept so sharp. So ready.
"I'm going now," Maryann said softly, and left the room.
* * *
Maryann woke up sore. She immediately touched her arm, then her thigh.
Carl was in the shower. She could hear it running. She looked over at the alarm clock. He was running late and would have to leave soon to get his train.
At least he didn't do anything else to me, she thought, looking down at the circular burn on her thigh. Not like last time.
She pulled her knees up close to her chest and wrapped the sheet around her, considering the things Sister had told her. But she was so afraid.
When the shower shut off and he was getting dressed, she could actually hear him whistling along to some song on the radio. The audacity of it amazed her. She had almost drifted to the No! Place again when he stuck his head in the doorway.
"So you're finally up?" Carl asked.
"Yes," she said softly.
"It's about time. You're going to be late for work if you don't get a move on."
She was going to mention the burns, but she knew it would only escalate matters and she didn't want to deal with that so early in the day.
"Yes," she said again, still hugging her knees.
"Well then, get the fuck up," he said and she could hear him hesitate there, wondering if he should enter the room again, but he backed out instead.
She heard the front door slam and knew she was safe, this time.
She sat there on the bed for a very long time. Afraid to move.
* * *
"Are you ready yet?"
This time Sister looked more masculine. Her once pretty face harder and sneering. She had acquired more knives since the last time Maryann had been there. Each time she went, there were more and more knives.
"No," Maryann said, huddled in a ball on the floor. "Not yet."
"What are you waiting for?" Sister said, trying to sound gentler. Her face becoming feminine again. "I can't stand to hear the things he does to you. Surely you don't love him anymore."
"That's just it." Maryann pressed her eyes against her legs. "I think I do."
"Even after all he's done to you?"
"He's going through some bad times. It won't be like this forever."
"I've heard that before. Don't you see that nothing changes? You continue to be his punching bag and let him get away with it."
Maryann did not answer.
"And the worst thing is that you have a choice. You don't have to suffer like this, because you have me. Me and this place. I can take care of everything, if you'd only let me."
"Not yet."
"I want to help you so badly," Sister said, "but I'm starting to lose patience, Maryann. You don't know how much it hurts me to see the things he does to you. I wish you'd let me take care of it."
"I know."
"Then why won't you trust me? Why won't you bring him here."
Maryann looked up at the rows and rows of knives. "I can't. It's not time yet."
"Are you waiting for him to kill you?" Sister asked. "Because then it will be too late."
"I know."
"I'll tell you, from what I've seen, you have to decide very soon, Maryann. You can't let this go on much longer."
Maryann stared into Sister's insect eyes.
"I know," she said. "Don't worry. Your wait is almost over."
* * *
Things were different that night. When Carl got home, he was in good spirits. The boss had given him a raise and he wanted to celebrate.
"Let's go out to eat," he told her. "Somewhere special."
She brightened at that, as if she were finally getting a glimpse of the sun after a long rainy season. "That sounds great, lover."
She couldn't remember the last time she called him lover and really meant it.
"So were you late for work?" he asked her. "Looks like you got a late start this morning."
"No," she said. "I just made it on time."
She hadn't gone to work at all. She'd called in sick.
"Get dressed. We're going somewhere really nice."
This was the side of him that stole her heart when they first met. This was the Carl that drew her in and made it hard to let go, no matter how cruel he eventually became.
She put on her best dress, a little red number that she'd only worn once before. It had been in her closet for months, waiting for a night like this. That didn't happen very often.
As she
applied her make-up, she felt a glimmer of hope, that maybe things could change for the better. This night could be a fresh start.
* * *
He groaned loudly as he shot his wad into her, then rolled over onto his back. As usual, the sex was rough, but she'd convinced herself long ago that she liked it that way. He always made her come, after all, even if she was sore afterwards.
Once she'd cleaned herself up, she came back to bed and stretched out beside him, on her side, watching him. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. Not yet.
"You know, this was such a good night," Maryann said. "Everything was so good for a change. Why can't it be like this more often?"
His eyes opened, and he returned her gaze. "What?"
"You heard me. You can be real nice when you want to. Why can't things be better between us?"
"You've got a problem with the way things are?"
"I haven't been truly happy in a long time," she said. "I really wish you'd try harder sometimes."
He sat up and, without warning, punched her in the side of the head. It was so hard, it knocked her off balance and she fell off the side of the bed. She was sprawled there on the floor, looking up at him. She put out her hands to deflect another blow - not that they would help her.
It was then that she finally had a moment of clarity. Maybe it was the lack of emotion in his face that triggered it, the strange emptiness in his eyes. Or maybe it was something in her that finally clicked. He didn't hurt her because there was something wrong with her, because she wasn't good enough. No, there was something wrong with him.
"So things aren't good enough for you, is that it?" he asked her. His voice wasn't quite a yell, but it held more menace than a shout ever could. "Answer me."
Maryann closed her eyes and went to the No! Place, the place she'd built up slowly, over time. It was built on the bones of too many bad relationships with brutal men, too many beatings. It had taken years to find her way there, but now, she was able to get there with ease and escape her life.
He climbed off the bed, stood over her, and kicked her in the side.
She didn't try to protect herself then. She was already gone.
* * *
"I'm ready," Maryann said when she got there.
"Ready for what?" Sister was still sharpening knives. It never ended.
"I'm sick of being his punching bag," Maryann said. "I see that now. I want to bring him here, like you asked."
Sister smiled at that, revealing her sharp little teeth. "It's about time."
"What do I have to do?"
"You don't need to ask me how," Sister said. "It's something inside you, an ability you've had for a long time. All you have to do is concentrate enough, and you can do whatever you want."
"You're sure about that?"
"Of course I'm sure," Sister said. "You had to get to the point where you wanted to, is all."
"So that's how I do it?" Maryann asked. "Just concentrate."
"Yes."
* * *
She had to go back to the real world first. A world of pain. Her jaw was very sore, as were her ribs, and she was bleeding.
Carl was about to land another kick when somehow Maryann was able to grab him and pull him into the No! Place. It all happened fast and without effort, as if she had tapped into some hidden part of her brain that allowed her to make her thoughts reality.
* * *
Carl found himself in what looked like a large warehouse. The walls were bright yellow tiles, some stained with what looked like blood. Something about this place screamed slaughterhouse to him.
"You're here," someone in the shadows said. Carl turned as Maryann stepped forward.
"What the fuck happened?" he asked her.
"I brought you here. You can't hurt me in this place. This is where I can say 'no' and you have to listen to me. You have no power here."
He stared at her, unsure of what to do. There was something very alien about this place. This long shadowy room with the blood-stained tiles.
Another face appeared behind Maryann's shoulder. It looked similar to Maryann's, but androgynous. At first he thought it might be her sister, then perhaps a brother. He couldn't be positive. This other one had strange, shiny eyes, and hair that moved as if alive. Nothing too aggressive, but he could see it undulate like careful snakes.
"Who's that?" Carl asked.
"This is Sister," Maryann said. "This is her home. She has been waiting for you for a long time. Haven't you, Sister?"
"Yes, a long time," the other said, her hair still moving. Her insect eyes examined him. She smiled, and her teeth were sharp and had many rows. They reminded him of a shark. There were small tendrils on either side of her mouth, moving with life all their own.
Sister licked her lips. The tendrils moved to avoid her tongue.
* * *
"I knew it would be like this," Sister said.
Carl's face was covered with blood. He wiped his eyes with his free hand, trying to clear them.
Above them, Maryann hung from a harness, swinging back and forth. Her legs and lower body were sliced to ribbons. Her entrails hung to the floor.
Blood rained on them both, but Sister didn't seem to notice as she handed Carl another knife.
"Try this one," she said. "It's very sharp."
Maryann started screaming again. She kept passing out, then woke up screaming. Over and over. Despite all the blood she'd lost, she seemed to be no closer to death, and no matter how much she tried to concentrate, she couldn't leave.
"When I told you this was the No! Place," Sister told her, doubting Maryann could hear her over her screams. "I didn't mean that no harm could come to you here. I meant that once this was started, there would be no end."
Carl smiled. "You sure have a lot of knives here."
"Yes, many, many years' worth, lover," Sister told him and licked blood from the back of his neck. "Take your time."
Private Exhibition
Open wounds adorned her abdomen, and caressed her cheeks like stinging tears.
There was a curtain in one corner of the gallery. People went behind it to see her. She stood on a low pedestal, naked, and the people gathered around her. They stared at her, and some of them even touched her, as if to see what pain felt like.
"Where did she come from?" Janet asked the man who ran the gallery. He was sitting behind a folding table, counting the money in his cash box. "How can you let her exhibit herself like this?"
The man had long, greasy hair. His face was pockmarked, wounds of his own. "She wanted to show herself off. I just provided a place for it, that's all. She came here and asked me to help her express her art. This is a gallery, after all. I couldn't just turn her away."
On the woman's breasts, wounds took the shapes of birds in flight. Below them, across her stomach, small, misshapen children held hands. As scabs would form over the images, she would tear at them, staining her fingers with blood.
"She won't let them heal," the man said to someone else. "She says she'll lose the way she communicates pain. She says that, without them, she'd be just like everyone else."
"This is inhuman," Janet said, interrupting him. "This woman is obviously disturbed. I think maybe I'll make some phone calls."
"Listen, lady." The gallery owner stared right at her, as if he were looking at some alien creature that defied description. Then he began again, "I can't stop you, but by now, everyone in town knows about her already. She's been in the papers and on the local news, even though they had to be careful how they filmed her, because you have to keep children innocent and all that. She's become a celebrity around here, and she isn't hurting anyone. I make sure no one under eighteen goes behind the curtain. Those who want to see her, come. Those who don't, don't. But no one's asked me to close up shop yet, and I've even seen some cops in the audience, now and again. She communicates to people. She makes them feel something.
"You can't honestly tell me she doesn't make you feel something, too. Can y
ou?"
"We'll see about this," Janet said, feeling herself blush. It made her angry. "And we'll see about you getting what you deserve for exploiting her like this."
"Lady, you're just a troublemaker. Why does there always have to be someone like you to try and ruin everything you don't understand? I shouldn't be wasting my time talking to an unfeeling bitch like you!"
* * *
Janet drove home, and after she'd parked, she sat in her car awhile, thinking about the girl she'd paid five dollars to see. She'd even touched some of the girl's wounds.
She looked at her hands and remembered what the wounds had felt like. There were tiny dots of blood on her fingertips.
She began to cry.
* * *
"So where did you come from?" Janet asked, handing the girl another hamburger wrapped in pretty red paper, and some more napkins.
As the girl unwrapped her burger, Janet placed the packet of french fries in front of her, and another soda. Janet hadn't ordered anything for herself.
It was strange seeing the girl in clothes. They were baggy and seemed out of place on her. Janet resisted the desire to reach out to remove them, to set her free.
"I've been to a lot of places," the girl said between bites of food. "Showing people my gift. I've met all kinds of people. It really is an enlightening experience, meeting people. Like you, for instance."
"But where did you grow up?" Janet asked. "Were you born with those..."
"Wounds? No, I wasn't born with them. But I did get them when I was younger. Sort of a strange story, really."
"Tell me about it," Janet said, watching her eat. Feeding off her being there.
With her.
"I was playing out in the woods behind my mama's house. She and my daddy split up when I was real young, you see. And I was rolling around on the ground one day, laughing like kids do, when I got tangled up in some pricker bushes. It hurt like hell, and it felt like they'd cut into every inch of me. But the cuts were so pretty. I vowed I'd never let them heal, no matter how hard Mama tried to keep me from picking at them. It happened when I was twelve.
