by J. Thorn
“I saw the ridge as we got closer. Caves jutted from the hillside, and openings stared black like missing teeth. We knew the snipers were in there. Nobody had to say it. By this time, ya got so tired, thirsty, and hot you was ready to kill some gooks. That aggression had to go somewhere. Somebody had to pay.
“Jessup stopped and checked his rifle. He made sure the thing was loaded. I did the same, grabbing the base of the bayonet and making sure it wasn’t loose. I lost a bayonet in the gut of a gook one time. Had to fish it out with my bare hands. Those Jap fuckers smell worse on the inside than they do on the outside. The sergeant motioned for the men to fan out, go shoulder to shoulder up the ridge rather than single file. I kept Jessup close in case I saw a grenade coming out of them caves. Figure I could dive behind that big motherfucker and save my own ass.
“The sun abused us. It glared down, boring through my eyes like forged flame. The moisture of the jungle would rot yer toes like rancid meat. It was hard to believe the gooks thought these islands would be worth their lives, but they did. They fought every last one of us, down to the slashing of their throats, if that’s what it took.
“I put my sight on the nearest cave opening and started towards the ridge. Our company didn’t get but three clicks in ‘fore the first mortar rounds went off. I saw the explosions before I heard ‘em. Ducked low, like they train us to do. Company behind us got hit with it. Seen body parts rainin’ down like fireworks on the fourth of July. Heard men crying for their mamas, their wives, and their god. I had to laugh at that. Their god was gonna help them as much as their woman could, by which I mean not at all.
“The explosions broke our company and we scattered like dung beetles under the boot. I think I shot two or three Jap fucks before the jungle got so dense that we went hand-to-hand. I knew I had to keep moving up, take the ridge, and I was willing to step on as many corpses as I needed to get there. Always sayin’ that war makes brothers out of men, but I ain’t had no brothers on that day. It was my life and I was going to save it no matter what. Guess that’s why I ain’t never earned no medal like some of dem other boys. Of course, once they got home those medals didn’t mean shit. They didn’t mean shit in the war neither. Other than the moment the brass pinned it to your chest, they was basically useless.
“The blood vessels in a man’s face burst before his heart gives out. You can watch it happen when you’re strangling the life out of some poor sonovabitch. The gooks always murmured something, praying to their heathen god or maybe asking for their mama in their own Jap tongue. Never got in the way of finishing the job. The first two men that came out of the jungle met their maker at my hand. Blood would dull the bayonet and so I wanted to save that for when the shit got real heavy. I could usually take ‘em down with a stiff jab to the nose. Once they fell, I’d drive my knee into the throat while my hands wrapped around their neck. War is about killing efficiently, not wasting energy on unnecessary pain or mercy. Fuck that. I killed as quickly as I could.
“My second kill on that day had the Rising Sun tied around his belt. The red and white silk held a few stains and minor tears but was otherwise in great shape. After smashing his face with a rock, he only twitched for a moment or two. I ripped the flag from him and put it in my pocket. Thought for sure my grandkids would use it as they played soldier in the backyard.
“I ran further up the ridge as I found the same path the gooks must have come down. I didn’t realize how risky that was at the time, giving them snipers a clean bead on me, but I didn’t much care. If I took one in the chest I’d wink out like falling asleep after a night of drinkin’. I reached the first cave, rolled a grenade inside, and ducked behind a tree. The explosion and the smoke that followed brought out one more gook. I stabbed him in the face, not so concerned about saving my bayonet anymore. I turned and saw the jungle scampering out to the beach, where it was consumed by the ocean. Our battleships sat there, officers smoking cigars and eating real meals while we gave our flesh. It made me sick enough to stumble and collapse at the foot of the cave. Whether it was from exhaustion, heatstroke, or divine intervention, my body passed out and my life wasn’t ever gonna be the same.”
***
The jazz oozed from the speakers mounted high above the tiled floor. Minor scales danced from the strings of the guitar and bounced across tables littered with scones, half-full mugs of chai, and the erotic aroma of fresh Sumatra. Ravna tilted the ceramic mug to his lip, allowing the mere touch of the beverage to excite his palate. He sniffed the vapor trail floating over the espresso and closed his eyes. The other patrons of the coffee shop pounded their laptops or bobbed their heads to an MP3 player.
Ravna flipped his notebook open, knocking napkins and straw wrappers to the floor. Pages marred with various food stains and scribbled notes flew past his eyes until they rested on a section bursting with newspaper clippings. He used the eraser tip of his pencil like a scalpel, turning pages until he reached the clippings toward the back, the ones not yet yellowed by time. The last one in the group bore the date of the day before. The newsprint retained its crisp feel and focused font.
“Woman’s body discovered in Crooked Tail River,” Ravna read out loud. Several of the patrons tethered to electronic devices twitched, a coincidental reaction to their own senses or an involuntary reaction to the spirit of death summoned by the headline.
Ravna reached into his cotton messenger bag and pulled out a musky, leather-clad book. The golden symbols on the cover belonged to no nation, to no culture. His finger sped down the pages, his fingernail pausing at several places before stopping. He pushed the book aside and flipped back to his notebook, now completely consumed by the task and oblivious to everything else around him.
“They didn’t put much in here. Just give me a sign. Give me one reason to suspect it,” he muttered.
“Sir, would you like another espresso?”
Ravna jumped, knocking his empty cup off of the saucer and sending a spoon tumbling to the hard ceramic below. He pushed a lock of golden hair behind his ear and into the mane that rested at the top of his shoulders. The platinum earrings adorning both lobes jingled at the motion.
“I think I would. Thank you very much,” he replied.
The teenage, goth beauty, smothered underneath black mascara and white foundation, smiled at Ravna with a slight wink of one eye. Ravna watched as her braided, black hair swung to the right, revealing a tribal-pattern tattoo adorning her lower back. She smelled like incense and heartbreak.
“Make it a double shot,” he called to her.
The barista turned and nodded, ruby lips full and shut tight. Ravna turned back to the news clipping and continued scanning it for signs.
“Discovered naked,” he spoke aloud. “Possible homicide, middle aged.” He sat back and placed the end of the pencil to his temple, tapping it rhythmically, following the beat of the jazz tune playing on the coffee shop’s satellite-radio system. He thought about the last hunt, considered the correlation, and dove back into the article. “Authorities investigating, no known suspects or persons of interest.”
Why would there be?
The goth princess interrupted the thought with Ravna’s double-shot espresso and placed it on a saucer amidst a sea of notebooks and paper scraps. She set a clean spoon across the top of the mug.
“You doing research or something?” she asked with the tip of an index finger placed between her lips.
Ravna looked up and fumbled for the spoon. He pushed another strand of hair past a receding widow’s peak and over an amber face. “Yes, research.”
“On vampires?”
“Yep, vampires.”
She smiled and bent over to give Ravna the illusion that what she had to say was for his ears only. His eyes caught a glimpse of her smooth, white breasts held firm and upright by a black-lace bra. “I’ve seen Twilight, like, seven times. I’ve read all the books.”
Ravna smiled. Body of a woman, mind of a child. That’s how it always goes.
“Well, if I get stuck in my research, I’ll know where to turn. Thank you, eh—”
“Sage. I go by Sage.”
“Thank you, Sage. You a recent hire?”
“Finishing my first semester at community college right now, and I picked this up to make enough money to pay for my books.”
At least she’s out of high school, thought Ravna. “The best investment, I always say.”
“What is?”
“An education,” replied Ravna, stretching the conversation as far as he could before it might break.
“Oh, yeah. I thought you meant a house or something, like my dad is always talking about. I’ve got too much partying to do before I settle down.” The goth princess smiled. Her bright eyes and perfect teeth made Ravna almost forget his name.
“Well, I need to get back to my work,” he said.
“Oh yeah! Didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll swing by later to see if you need another fix of caffeine.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
The barista cracked her gum and sauntered back to the counter. He noticed the intentional runs in her black, fishnet pantyhose and shook the cobwebs from his head.
Ravna brought the renewed espresso to his mouth, allowing the black gold to kiss his lips. The ritual meant as much as the heart-pounding infusion the drink would bring. He closed his eyes and imagined holding the mug on a mountain in South America as the local farmers harvested the coffee beans from their fields. He could taste the labor of love in their crop.
Dusk relinquished its hold on the evening, and the clientele in the coffee shop morphed from young professionals on laptops to teenage kids with nowhere else to hang out. Malls were not cool anymore, and bars would not let them in. One corner held a table of rowdy long-hairs with jean jackets and cigarette-stained hands. Another couch protected sweater vests from the gaze of the rowdy long-hairs. The goth princess joined a group of girls with purple hair and pentagram necklaces. She giggled and cracked her gum, no longer obligated to pay attention to the middle-aged men that stole a quick glance at her legs before going home to grope their disinterested, flabby wives.
Ravna began to gather his notes. He slid the messenger bag closer by looping a foot through the strap. The ancient book slid behind a blue spiral notebook that oozed sticky notes. The notebook with the press clippings fit between them. He glanced at the Riot Grrrl table and caught the eye of the goth princess for a moment. She winked and then joined the giggling of the other girls.
Ravna stood and felt his bones creak. The espressos made his heart race while the rest of his body craved an early evening nap. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a ball of lint, a crumpled candy wrapper, and a black, elastic hair tie. He pulled his blond tresses back and secured them with the hair tie while shoving the other items back into his pocket. He brought his hand halfway up to signal the beginning of a wave until the goth princess bubbled over with more laughter. He retracted the gesture with diminishing dignity.
The bell on the door to the coffee shop rang as he exited and stepped into February’s realm. The sliver of the moon hung above the strip mall across the street, and the sky looked as black as velvet. One dot burst through the sky, fooling those that called it the first star, not recognizing it as Venus. Ravna continued down a sidewalk sprinkled with fast-food litter and ice patches that had not melted during the day. He pushed through the chill and left his goth princess fantasies at the coffee shop with the remains of biscotti and whipped milk.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he said to a mannequin in the window of a tuxedo shop.
***
Drew flopped around like a fish at the end of a hook. The dream and story converged on his subconscious with the energy of a derailed train. Violent streaks of color flooded his vision, and explosions thundered from the dreaming world. He kept telling himself it was all a dream, and yet he could not wake. The sweat gushing from his pores glued him to the cushions of the couch. Only three minutes had passed in the world of the living, and yet three hours expired in dream time. The voice continued.
“Ya ever stand in front of one of those carnival mirrors? You know the kind, the ones that stretch you six ways from Sunday or give you a potbelly decades before you’ve earned one?”
Drew felt his head nod, strands of greasy, damp hair stuck to his face.
“That’s what he looked like, only more pathetic. I guess I’ll call him a man as much as he resembled one, but it’s kind of like calling flattened roadkill yer pet. It may have represented your love at one time, but not no more.
“His body was long, but not tall. The gray, bluish skin stretched over thin bones, looking like it was about to tear in places like the elbows and knees. Not only was it blue, but the skin was greasy and it attracted whatever filth the creature crawled through. Its arms and legs were twice what a normal man’s might be, but they had half the muscle of a child. A distended belly jutted out from below thin ribs, like those dying nigger babies in Africa. The neck stretched upward like an ostrich. It was thin and made you want to snap it. The thing’s head was by far the most hideous thing I had ever seen, and I seen a lot of shit in my day. Need I remind you that I had just crawled through the jungle and squashed the life out of several Jap bastards?”
Drew shook his head even though a response was not expected.
“There was no hair left on the head, and the eyes sat deep in the skull like chunks of coal. There were two holes where a nose may have been, and then that slit for a mouth. The thing was shoving human shit into the maw on its face. I don’t know how I knew it was real shit, but it was. It stank like, well, like shit and death. Those are smells even the hardiest soldiers can’t forget. Breathing through my mouth didn’t make a damn bit of difference. The crazy thing was that the more shit this thing tried cramming in there, the less got in. Its sallow cheeks were smeared with feces, and it had a low moan like a rat caught in a spring trap but not quite dead yet. It would look at me and then wail. Two, maybe three, dead gook soldiers sat against the wall. All of them had their pants at their ankles with a pile of shit inside. It was like they died after taking one, and this thing was busy trying to lap it up.”
Drew shuddered and the image painted for his dream shimmered and hissed like an unlit stream of natural gas. He felt a force draw his attention back to the cave, back in time, back in space.
“I can’t have ya waking up until I’m done here. You just keep it together now.”
Drew’s breathing regulated. A line of drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
“I brought my rifle up and placed the crosshairs right on that sonovabitch. Fucker never even hesitated. It had no use for me, no fear neither.
“‘What the hell are you?’ I asked, the end of my rifle shaking in my hands.
“The thing moaned and threw the contents of one hand against the wall of the cave. The shit splattered and oozed toward the ground. I felt my stomach crawling up into my throat.
“‘Gaki,’ it replied.
“That fucking slit on its face may have opened a bit, but if it did, I couldn’t tell. The voice came into my head like mine is in yours right now. The name felt guttural, ancient, cursed.
“‘What the fuck is a Gaki?’ I asked.
“The creature turned to face me. It sat perched on a rock and drew a long, slender finger from its mouth. It looked at the feces of the dead men and back to me. He crouched low like a junkyard dog.
“‘From Preta, the departed,’ it said inside my head.
“The words felt like the heaves you get from too much whiskey. It was like I could taste them, cold and greasy on my tongue.
“I dropped the rifle when I realized that it wouldn’t protect me from this thing. I was aware of bombs exploding outside the cave, complete with screams and shouts of war. I turned my back on it.
“‘Cold,’ it said while the heat of the jungle tried to melt the flesh from my bones.
“I sat down and pulled a cigarette from the pack. Gak
i, as I decided it must be named, watched me as my silver Zippo flashed to life with flame. The creature shrieked and hid its face behind the corpses on the floor of the cave. I put the flame to the end of the cigarette and inhaled the sweet taste of Virginia tobacco. I held my arm out, feeling as though I had to offer one to Gaki because I could not watch him eat shit anymore. He continued moaning while perched on the rock.
“‘Greed consumes you,’ it said. ‘Selfish. Hoarding.’
“I shook my head and blew smoke rings across the cave, savoring that smell over shit.
“‘Ain’t no other way,’ I responded. Somehow I felt the need to defend my survival in this Pacific shithole.
“‘You own it now.’
“I laughed and pulled a grenade from my belt. I yanked the pin from the top and cocked my arm back like Ty Cobb. The fucking thing didn’t move. It wasn’t scared of the weapons I brought to the palaver.
“‘Take it with you. Feed on it.’
“Gaki tilted his head back and wailed, which blinded my vision. A scene unfolded in my head like the old silent films of my youth. A grainy screen grew until it displayed my bedroom back home. My hurt lurched at a past life full of luxury and innocence. Then I saw her come into the room, my girl. She had not a stitch on her, and the man in me took notice. But as the frames skipped forward, I noticed she was not alone. Several of my hometown buddies were there, and they were naked, too. She laid flat on the bed, her ample breasts sliding to the side. The boys wasted no time. One grabbed each ankle and thrust her legs apart. He moved closer and I saw her back arch. One slid underneath her body so that I saw the bottoms of six feet in my mind’s projector. The third grabbed hold of his manhood and placed it on her lips. The bodies tussled and maneuvered, dancing with lust, not forced coitus. My girl took the seed of each one. She brought them into her most profane places and smiled up into their eyes like a dutiful daughter.
