Nancy Goats (Delirium Novella Series)

by Weston Ochse

  Relatively.

  It also helped that Paco had successfully broken the last two toes of Brett’s right foot the previous day. They were bandaged together to keep them from being flexed, but that didn’t stop Paco from accidentally brushing up against the black and purpled digits when he found himself in a jeopardized position.

  That he was the lone goat in the room was a little unsettling. B.J. was nowhere to be found and the other goats remained hidden beneath their blankets. For whatever reason, Randy and Panther Joey had decided to take turns wrestling each other instead of one of their goats. Dudes 1 and 2 were nowhere to be found.

  Paco supposed even goats needed a day off. The reason that Paco wasn’t given the same perk was probably a combination of Brett being in the doghouse with his father and having to fight his way out and Paco being the newest member of the goats, and therefore he hadn’t achieved the tenure of the others.

  Still, he would have liked to see some of his fellow goats. Especially Tiki. Paco was a sucker for accents and couldn’t wait to see what exotic features were responsible for the lilting speech of the French-speaking goat.

  Paco snapped back to the present as he suddenly found his right arm gathered into a chimera. The pressure on his bone went from slight to incredible in the blink of an eye. He bit his lip to keep from screaming and kicked out with his foot until he hit Brett’s broken toes.

  Brett let go of the move and cursed as he got to his feet. He glanced around to make sure Daddy Pain wasn’t there, then went over to the wall and leaned against it. He stared back at Paco with a petulant gaze.

  Paco wasn’t sure what to do. He was just laying there in the middle of the floor. Should he get up? Or would he get beat down for daring to stand? What about the others? Glancing at Randy and Panther Joey, he was surprised that none of them were making a move to wrestle with him. After a moment, Paco realized that there must be some unwritten rule about wrestling someone else’s goat. Otherwise he wouldn’t be lying in the middle of the floor like a dying cockroach with no one willing to step on him.

  11. The Land Of Suicide Chimeras

  The next morning he woke to silence. Gone was the boing boing boing of the girl. He couldn’t even hear the others breathing. It was as if he were completely alone.

  The room was so silent.

  Too silent.

  He sat up slowly. Glancing blearily at the others huddled beneath the covers of their bunks he suddenly became angry. How could they let themselves be turned into something too afraid to see the light of day?

  “Better lie back down, goat,” came B.J. “Panther Joey is on the prowl and is looking for someone to break.”

  “Hey!” Paco whispered hoarsely. “What happened to you?”

  “Same thing happens to everyone here eventually.”

  “But they fixed you back up, right?”

  B.J. paused for a moment before he changed the subject. “You left the room yesterday. No one ever leaves the room.”

  “It’s because you stay under those blankets all the time. If you’d ever peel them off, you’d see how bright the sun is outside. They even have a trampoline.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “I know you all are scared, so scared you won’t even let me see you, talk to you.”

  “You don’t understand.” B.J. sighed. “But you will soon.”

  “Paco sat heavily on the edge of his cot and groaned as he rubbed his shoulder. “I’m starting to remember in my mind what my muscles never forgot.”

  “You were a wrestler, right?”

  “Yeah. I got a scholarship to UCLA.”

  “So you’re a professional. Must be nice.”

  “But I dropped out.”

  “Still, with the exception of Mikey and The Mound, the rest of us didn’t have any of that kind of experience.”

  “But you all managed—”

  “Being able to take care of yourself in a fight helped. I had my share of run-ins, as I am sure you did.”

  “It’s almost like they can’t help it.”

  “Like they’re afraid we’re contagious,” B.J. teased.

  “Better watch out. Gonna catch the gay flu.” Paco chuckled softly. He rolled over and pulled his covers over him. He had to admit it felt safer within the dark. It was like living in a wool-skied world, where everything was warm and comfortable.

  “Have you figured it out yet?” Tiki asked.

  Paco found himself grinning. “Figured what out?”

  “The thing that he did to you—how do you say—Chimera.”

  “What Tiki means is the wrist lock that almost broke your forearm,” B.J. explained.

  “Oh that.” Paco held his one good hand out in front of him and could barely make it out in the dark beneath the blanket. “I don’t know it yet.”

  “What about the scarf choke?” came The Mound’s voice, the words so soft they barely made it across the room.

  “No. Not that either,” Paco said.

  “He wouldn’t know that because he’s a wrestler. They don’t wear collars or scarves.”

  “What about leg sweeps?” Mikey asked.

  “I know sweeps. We did that in wrestling.”

  “So he has a good base,” The Mound confirmed.

  Paco’s curiosity was piqued. “What kind of martial arts did you learn?” he asked The Mound.

  “Pencak Silat. It is... I am from Indonesia. I also learned Krav Maga. It is from Israel. I fought there once.” The blankets shifted. “I was a soldier there. I know how easy it is to die, how hard it is to stay alive.”

  “Jesus,” Paco whispered. “I haven’t even heard of those. Can you show me something?”

  Mikey laughed. “Good luck. He doesn’t ever come out of those blankets.”

  “Except to fight Daddy Pain,” The Mound corrected.

  “Yeah. Except for that.”

  “How come?” Paco asked.

  “Light discipline. Daddy Pain fights by feel. Whenever we fight, it’s in the dark.”

  “And what about the rest of you?”

  Paco waited for a long time but none came.

  Then he heard the lock on the door click open, followed by the door opening.

  “Get your ass out here,” Panther Joey grumbled. “Time for breakfast.”

  Paco remained still for a moment, suddenly afraid to move. The land of the underblanket was so friendly, so safe, so free of the danger represented by Daddy Pain.

  “I said get your ass moving! Come on!”

  Paco did as he was told.

  12. Little Girl Lost

  Panther Joey gave him the run of the kitchen and the warning not to try any funny business before disappearing into another part of the house. Evidently the rest of the family had gone out again, this time to “hunt for more goats.”

  Instead of the gruel he’d had the first day, Paco helped himself to the contents of the refrigerator. He’d be damned if he was going to pass up the chance at a real meal, so with all the ceremony of a member of the TV game show Survivor, he made a homemade hero sandwich. Although it looked like it had been found in the bottom of a trashcan, it tasted like it had been delivered from on high.

  He was joyously eating it one handed when he spied a white blur pass by the sliding glass window in the living room.

  By the time he made it to the glass, the familiar sounds of the trampoline came to him.

  The girl was back.

  The question is what did she know? Or more importantly, what did she think? Could he get her to call for help? Or was it too dangerous for him to even ask?

  Paco imagined that Daddy Pain’s place was far from the everyday place a kid would choose to play. Then again, what was different about it on the outside? There were steel shutters on the front windows, but this was L.A. Although Paco couldn’t be definitive, he figured they were somewhere in the hills of Malibu or Rancho Palos Verdes, which would account for the constant sound of the booming surf on the edge of his hearing and the even
more constant onshore breeze. That would also make the place a pseudo-mansion, perched on a hill, surrounded by the types of people who measured their wealth by their ability to remain private.

  Perhaps she didn’t know anything…in fact, she really couldn’t know anything. If she did, Daddy Pain might do something to her that couldn’t be undone. Maybe that’s what Panther Joey meant when he said not to mention the girl to Daddy Pain.

  About the same time he finished his sandwich, she stopped jumping. She’d seen him. Careful of her white sundress, she stepped off the trampoline and crossed the grassy yard in her bare feet. Her head of blonde-white long hair caught glints of sunlight. Her skin was almost white, as if it didn’t see much sun.

  She stopped at the window less than a foot away and stared up past his eyes towards the top of his head.

  He suddenly remembered that he had no hair. He moved a hand to cover his bald dome, but once he did, he realized right away that it was too late and let his hand fall to his side. He grinned with good-humored embarassment.

  She smiled with him. “Hari Krishnas,” she said. Her voice sounded tinny through the double-paned glass.

  Paco gave her a quizzical look.

  “That’s what my dad says you guys are. A bunch of Hari Krishnas.”

  Paco laughed. He’d thought the same thing when they were cutting off his hair…about how much he probably looked like a Hari Krishna. But he wasn’t a Krisha, he was a goat…ack…a headliner. He shook his head at the intrusion of Daddy Pain’s influence and his minds co-opting of the word.

  “I’m not a Krishna,” he said.

  “Yes, you are.”

  He moved to correct her, then realized that if he actually told her the truth, he might put her in jeopardy. He glanced over his shoulder. In fact, just talking to him could put her in danger. He supposed that her believing that the occupants of the house were Hari Krishnas wasn’t such a bad thing. And as he thought it, he cracked a smile, realizing that this was perhaps the only time in his life that being a Hari Krishna was acceptable.

  “He says you are all going to hell.”

  “What?” Paco blinked as if he’d been smacked in the face. His father had been the very same way. Growing up in an Idaho backwater, if you weren’t Christian you were Mormon, anything else was a surefire, one-way trip to hell.

  “My daddy says you don’t believe in God. He says you worship the devil.”

  Paco rethought his idea about correcting her. Instead, he did something he never thought he’d do. He defended the Hare Krishnas. “I think that they do worship God. They sing and dance and everything they do goes to worship.”

  “You sing and dance too. Just like a Hari Krisha.”

  Paco hadn’t sung and danced since he’d been at the house. How could she know?

  But instead of asking, he added, “I heard that the words Hare Krishna mean supreme god, so every time you hear them chanting those words over and over, they are celebrating god.”

  “So my daddy is full of shit?”

  Paco blinked again.

  She crossed her arms. “The Family Pain is going to hell too.”

  Paco nodded slowly. “I can believe that.”

  “You aren’t one of them.” It was a statement, rather than a question. “That’s good. It’s important to know who you are. My daddy says that what you call yourself is important.”

  “Is it so important?” asked Paco. “I mean really? Does it matter? I thought he was full of shit.” Paco reminded himself that he hated being called a goat.

  The girl grinned, revealing a couple of missing lower teeth. “He is most of the time.”

  “How can you tell when he’s not full of it?”

  She shrugged. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Brian,” he said, letting his real name slip.

  “I knew a guy named Brian.”

  “What’s your name?” Paco asked.

  “Sue,” she said, in a very grown up manner. She even stood straighter as she said it and stuck out her hand in mockery of a grown man’s handshake. “How do you do?”

  “Not Suzie or Susan?” He asked, ignoring her hand outstretched on the other side of the glass as she shook her head in response. “Just Sue?”

  “Just Sue.”

  He was reminded of the Johnny Cash song A Boy Named Sue. His father used to play that song over and over. He’d loved it, especially the way the boy had been saddled with a name that had made him into a man. But he’d stopped listening to it when Paco had begun wearing dresses.

  At that moment the doorbell rang.

  A shot of fear ran through him. He turned and found himself staring straight down an entry hall to the front door. He’d never really looked that direction so never knew it was so close. But then he spied the three deadbolts and the interior padlock. Even if he had, there was no way he’d have been able to escape.

  Still…

  He could see the shadow of someone through the frosted glass of the entry door. Now could be his chance.

  Just then Panther Joey came barreling into the room. He grabbed Paco by the back of the neck and yanked him into the kitchen. Paco was able to glance back at the sliding glass door in time to see Sue scoot away. Soon Paco was back to the door of the goat pen.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Panther Joey cursed as he fumbled with the lock and the latch one handed.

  By the time he got it open, the doorbell was ringing again, this time accompanied by a series of hard knocks. “Anyone in here? This is Officer Grant. Open the door.”

  “Fuck.” Panther Joey hurled Paco hard enough into the room to make him sprawl on his cot and tip it over. Then he slammed the door.

  Paco scrambled to his feet. His right arm had taken the brunt of the fall and throbbed with pain, but he ignored it as best he could as he scrambled to his feet and ran back to the door. There was a chance that in Panther Joey’s rush it might not have been locked.

  He tried it.

  Locked.

  No such luck.

  But he could hear voices through the wood. He leaned against it and listened, blocking out all other senses as best he could in an effort to make up for distance and thickness of the door. Even so, he could only make out about half of what they were saying.

  “…know what the problem…” Panther Joey said.

  “…reports of a smell…” said the police officer.

  “…compost…backyard…sorry about that.”

  Then the voices faded.

  Paco couldn’t tell whether they went to a different part of the house or back outside, but now he couldn’t hear anything.

  What smell was there? He hadn’t smelled anything. And if there had been something in the back yard, Sue would have crinkled her nose at least. She seemed pretty feminine and Paco doubted she would be willing to play in a yard that smelled as bad as one that required the police getting involved.

  He sagged to the floor and cradled his arm.

  He should have banged on the door. Made a racket. Screamed. Anything to get the policeman’s attention.

  He shook his head miserably.

  So why hadn’t he?

  13. Martial Artist Crash Test Dummy

  Later that night Daddy Pain, Randy and the Dudes still hadn’t come home. But Panther Joey and Brett were there. So while Panther Joey sat drinking creatine shakes and watching re-runs of the Ultimate Fighter reality TV show on a giant flat screen in the other room, Brett rolled with Paco.

  The sound on the television was muted. Danzig sprang from the speakers, enveloping everyone and everything in the heavy metal guitar riffs of Jerry Cantrell’s version of Mother.

  Brett was concentrating on arm triangles. He’d lay on his back and let Paco pretend to attack, then capture his good arm and neck by locking his legs around them. The pressure to the neck was incredible. Brett called it a blood choke, meaning the more pressure exerted, the more the circulation of blood to the brain was cut off. On more than one occasion he’d fe
lt the edges of his vision narrowing and the black hole spots returning.

  They were two hours into practice when Daddy Pain came through the garage and into the training room. He was alone.

  The first thing he did was turn off the stereo.

  Paco’s ears rang in the silence.

  Panther Joey ran into the room.

  “You,” Daddy Pain said, pointing at Panther Joey. “Get out to the car and bring the bags to the back yard.”

  Brett had sunk a deep triangle that was destined to put Paco into sleepy time, but he eased it when his father came into the room.

  Paco sensed rather than saw Daddy Pain’s anger by the tension he felt in Brett’s legs.

  “What’s going on?” Brett asked.

  “Were you here when the police came?”

  “No. I was making a run to the market, I—”

  “You should have been here.”

  “Panther Joey took care of it. I was—”

  “I wanted you to take care of it.”

  “I told you. I wasn’t here. I had to get groceries.”

  “You talk to me like that again and I’ll break you down like we did the other goats.”

  Silence followed and it was so loud that Paco was afraid to move.

  Finally Brett broke it with a whispered question. “Where’s Randy, Dad?”

  Daddy Pain sighed. “Fucking fag behind the French Market was a professional boxer or something. I dropped Randy off to track one of our marks and sped around the block to give him some time to corral the goat. By the time I returned, blood was pouring out of Randy’s face. Dropped him off at an urgent care off of Olympia so he could get stitched up.”

  Paco felt a strong surge of solidarity and adulation. Hurray for our team.

  His thoughts must have been evident on his face because the moment he thought it, Brett glared at him.

  It wasn’t a moment more before he felt the legs wrap around his neck and squeeze. Only this time, they didn’t let go when his vision began to dim. A black night train hit him between the eyes and sent him into complete darkness.