CLUB MEDicine: A Novel

by Jack Kinsley

  Travis tried to speak through the gag, but his words were inaudible. Dallas leaned over, irritated that he had to remove the gag from Travis again.

  "Name your price," said Travis.

  Dallas waved a fat finger to say no, as if refusing an offer of crumpets with his tea. "You know, we weren't all that close, not in the traditional brother-and-sister sense. I was the...what's the word? Pariah, yes that's it. The family pariah. But I did follow her quietly from afar, as some undesirable family members will do with kin — clipping newspaper articles and keeping in touch in spirit."

  Travis couldn't believe the gall of him, speaking about spirit. But he kept his mouth shut. He could use the break himself — though not literally.

  "She was the twin that got all the brains, and me all the brawn. Funny how Mother Nature seems to indiscriminately choose its course. But I accepted that a long time ago. No sense in hoping for things that can never come true. Did you know they were calling her a leader in the next generation of chemists? It's true. The world of science was already looking to her as a great hope in finding cures for cancer and other life-threatening diseases. And it made me feel like I was better than I was, seeing we shared the same womb. Of course, two different peas — but still the same pod. And it gave me respect for myself that I never had before, as if I was somehow part of it." He stroked his chin and repositioned his legs, pulling at his shorts impatiently to find some comfort.

  "Then I see this article in the paper." The giant searched his memory for the exact title. "Yes... 'Science Community Mourns the Tragic Loss of Gifted Biochemist.' I knew right away it was Marilyn."

  Travis knew the exact article he was talking about. He'd also cut it out, and it was buried inside a shoebox filled with other painful memories of her, hiding in his closet. Oh, the shoeboxes of the world.

  "But it didn't make sense to me," Dallas continued. "I knew her better. She was as straight-laced as they came. She would never indulge in that behavior on her own." He darted his eyes at Travis, the pupils dilating once more. "If we was brain and brawn, then we was also saint and sinner — one destined for heaven, the other for hell. But that ain't all correct, really. You know why I ain't afraid of hell, Mr. Martin?"

  Travis didn't know if it was rhetorical or not, but took his chances that it was better not to speak when the country boy started showing up again. His arms felt like they beat from an elephant's heart, and though he couldn't see flames coming off his fingers, they could have easily been a foot tall.

  "Because I don't belong to this here earth," the giant continued. "And the rules applyin' to you, ain't applyin' to me. Meanin', there ain't no hell or no heaven for me to be subject to. From another world, I am. Far away. Just some alien fragment that come into this here atmosphere, pushed into the dirt, and grown twice your normal size. So you see, I got no reason to fear nothin'."

  Travis looked down at himself, at his already-broken body and what was to come, and knew then he would never make it out of this alive. The psychopath was going to tear him to pieces, eat him while he was still alive, and shit him into outer space.

  Ana began struggling in her chair, trying in vain to twist and slide her wrists free, but it was impossible to escape. The twine wrapping her was stained crimson red. The giant glanced over at her, but he quickly dismissed her futile attempts. He drew his focus back to Travis.

  "Damn shame she fell into a spell with someone the likes of you. You snuffin' her light out and robbin' the world of somethin' heaven sent." He looked incredulous and shook his head at the floorboards, as if it was still an unbelievable fact she was gone. When he emerged from his moment of grief, his black eyes steadied on Travis. "Then you go on and leave her be — die alone like some kind of goddamn animal."

  "I loved her, Dall—"

  "You shut your trap, rodent, or I'll rip that tongue out before you can slap a tick, you piece of shit motherfucker!" His voice roared inside the living room and he shot up from his chair, sending it flying on its back.

  Travis was certain he had only seconds left in the world, but the giant remained stationary, staked in the floor, and gradually regained his composure. Abruptly, he turned his sights on Ana and went over to her.

  "You know, the funny thing is..." While he spoke, he looked at Travis and began stroking the top of Ana's head with a heavy hand, like she was a good dog. The skin on her mascara-stained face pulled sharply back with every pet, and her eyes begged helplessly at Travis. "I had almost changed my opinion about you, Mr. Martin. The way you took me in, making me feel like family, pretending to care about my well-being and all. And you even seemed generous with your personal loan to me. So, I thought, maybe...just maybe you weren't the man I knew you to be." He grabbed a fist full of hair at the back of Ana's head and held it tight, his face dark and ugly. "But then you come askin' me if I would kill your wife for you." He looked down at Ana, forcing her to look up at him, and nodded — letting her know it was true. When she looked back at Travis, the sympathy she'd expressed for him during his torture was gone.

  The giant pet Ana's head some more, but lightly this time, as he looked over the assortment of weapons on the dining table — the 9mm, the hunting knife, and the L-wrench Travis brought in. He rubbed his chin while he made his decision, then picked up the wrench. He held it with the sprocket end out and tapped it repeatedly in his palm, judging the weight of it. "I know this ain't bringin' her back none, but I see fit to make right a few wrongs in her story. And you is one of them, Mr. Martin."

  He stood in front of Travis and secured the gag back around his mouth. "Now, what was it you said when you give me my drugs back? I believe it was, 'I'll make you whole again.' Right? Are you gonna make me whole again, Mr. Martin? Like Melinda did? I go askin' that dumb bitch for water and she bring me gasoline. Just like you done. You know who the two of you soundin' like? A lot like some big prick in the sky, livin' on a cloud, just sittin' in his high chair, watchin' the world squirm below. And you gonna get yours now."

  Dallas stepped back and repositioned himself for a good clear shot to Travis's ribs. "You ain't gonna stand a chance once I start bustin' your insides — just like my sister. And seeing you're two bricks shy of a full load and you haven't figured yet...we're goin' in order of operations here, Mr. Martin."

  The giant lightly tapped the sprocket end to the target on Travis's ribs, like someone would a hammer to nail before striking it. He drew in a large breath, then wielded it above his head and swung the wrench viciously into Travis's side ribs. The ribs numbered 7, 8, and 9 shattered on impact.

  Travis folded over in the direction of the swing. Bile shot from his mouth as a nuclear mushroom cloud detonated in his gut. The collateral damage was severe, and he knew the internal bleeding had begun. The pain was so intense that all he saw was a world of bright and spinning lights. When a thought did finally creep back into head, it begged the question of how high the numbers on his body went — the ones he couldn't see... Marilyn's kidneys and spine had also been destroyed.

  As he dangled over and his vision started to fix again, he saw Ana continuing to work feverishly to extract her arms. He felt warm fluid rising and he spat it at the oversized feet in front of him. Dallas pulled him up by his hair and sat him upright again. His ribs shifted and cut at his insides like a broken picket fence, making quick work of his innards. More pain ignited at the wound when giant fingers poked and prodded at his ribs — performing some kind of sick physical evaluation to see if the swing had delivered its goal. The hand vanished.

  "Oh, Mr. Martin?" a voice called to him.

  Travis looked up to see the beast petting Ana's head again. The lights around him heightened and fell; it was increasingly difficult to keep focused in one direction, but at least his gag was off again and he could breathe slightly better.

  "Hello?" the voice called to him again.

  This time he saw the giant cupping Ana's breast over her dress. He bounced it in his palm like a water balloon, smiling at Travis all the whil
e. "Not bad," he told him. "But maybe I'll wait until it cools a little." He flashed a row of chiseled teeth.

  One in the trunk, after her light went out, skipped inside Travis's head.

  Upstairs, he heard the sound of small beating fists on a bedroom door. Dallas looked up the staircase and then smiled at Travis. "I'll be sure Bella gets to watch...before I snap her little neck. It's gonna be just as easy as snappin' that little pup's."

  The realization drove over Travis like a tank. Devon hadn't killed Little Jack. This alien psychopath had been casing Crystal Heights.

  Ana was trying to shout through her gag, desperate to tell Travis something, but he couldn't make sense of it; a piercing resonance in his ears faded in and out from his enormous pain.

  Dallas gave her hair a few strokes. "Yes, sweetheart? Do you have something you'd like to say to him? Before he can't hear you anymore?

  Her eyes pleaded, and she nodded.

  Dallas pulled the gag down under her chin. At first it seemed she wouldn't be able to speak at all — like she couldn't find words. And then a freight train shot from her. Her voice was hoarse and wounded with emotion. "Die, you son of a bitch! Rot in hell! You deserve everything coming to you! You piece of shit father. You piece of shit...husband." She sobbed uncontrollably, then found more venom within and told the giant, "Finish him. Kill him now! I want to watch him die. And whatever it is you need to do with me, you do it. But don't touch my daughter. Please! Promise me!" And she broke again.

  "Ain't no way, sugar dumplin'," said the beast. He looked sympathetically into her eyes, and stroked her head a last time. "Can't be makin' no such promises."

  "Ana." Travis gasped and wheezed in oblivious pain, barely able to breathe. "I'm so sorry. Sorry for everything." He winced as a large shard of rib shifted inside and ripped him internally. He fought through it. "You were right about me. I deserve all of it... Everything. "

  "You do," she whispered. "You do."

  The giant nodded, apparently pleased with their genuine outpouring of raw emotion. He tapped the steel end of the wrench in his palm and stood once again in front of him. Travis leaned over to look at Ana again, even though this tore the jagged picket fence across his insides. He said to her, "Tell Bella...I...love her."

  "Stupid son of a bitch," the giant said pityingly. "Thinkin' love's gonna save the day. All you church-believin' folks don't know what the fuck. You know what brought me here? Huh? You dumb cracker. You's did. That love you claim for that little girl broughts me straight to her...and this fine tasty bitch too. It was you. Your love was the light that led me. Praise Jesus!" he shouted to the ceiling. "Only he ain't here to save all of you's now. You sees, Mr. Martin: love only destroys what we do care about. And that be a damn fact. And it's gonna be a painful one."

  Travis sucked in what air he could and spat, "Bring it, you stupid hick! You know fuck all. You know what you is? Excrement. Nothing more than the placenta. Sharing a womb? Fucking joke. You were just waste elimination...expelled at birth. You should have been thrown in the trash. You need justification? Fuck you! You love it! Now show me who you really are!"

  The giant smiled down at him. "It's soundin' like we's all in agreement now, doesn't it? And believe me...it's gonna be best for everyone."

  "Ready," Travis told him.

  "Me too." The giant pushed and leaned Travis back in his chair a bit, so he'd have a clear line of fire into the paired numbers of 9 and 10 on his right ribs.

  Travis watched the wrench slowly lift. He slammed his eyes shut tight — wishing he could vanish by miracle. He heard the giant suck in the air around him, and waited for the crushing blow.

  A deafening gunshot exploded in the room.

  The sounded radiated in all directions, turning everything to mass confusion. Travis opened his eyes and saw the giant frozen above him, the wrench still pointing at the ceiling. A gush of blood pumped from a gaping hole out the front of his neck; Travis felt a spurt of warmth on his bare chest. The two men were motionless, frozen like characters paused on a movie screen.

  Then a second shot detonated and blasted the cap off the front of the giant's skull, landing it with a wet slap onto the wall behind Travis. A rain of blood covered him. And still, the beast remained suspended, defying gravity, with one arm lifted high and the other halfway up his chest — like an astronaut who'd had a heart attack in space. Then at once, his massive body folded and crumpled into a heap in Travis's lap. Travis rocked the chair and shimmied his legs to get the giant's body to slither off him. There was a dull thud when the remains of his head hit the floor.

  Travis looked up across the room into a haze of smoke. Ana began taking form behind it, like some crazed mythical creature magically appearing from its veil. She had one arm free and the 9mm was locked at the end of it, pointing directly at his head. He felt the aim between his eyes, and inside the ringing and pulsing of his ears there was Bella again — beating and now kicking her bedroom door, crying out for her mother.

  A wave of calm acceptance came over him.

  "It's okay," he told Ana. "It's okay." He closed his eyes again and waited; for the light, the sound, and for all of his pain to finally extinguish.

  He heard Ana say something, but it was unintelligible and vanished in the echo of the previous gunfire. A third shot rang out. He felt himself spin sideways, back onto one hind leg of the chair, and then dropped onto his side into blackness.

  He felt nothing more.

  Three Months Later

  Chapter 19 / The Devil Inside

  It was late January, and an unusual high-pressure weather system had settled over Southern California. The dense air pushed down over Malibu and spun out a welcomed warm blanket in a counterclockwise direction. Clear skies and warm days were projected through the weekend; by late Saturday morning, the first wave of beachgoers were staking their umbrellas into the warming sands. Travis watched from above. He'd just reached the top of the trail at Point Dume State Beach and stood at its precipice. Below him, the steady flow of people painted a picture reminiscent of scout ants surveying the territory. While some had assembled in clusters, others settled alone. He imagined the multitude of text messages already flying back to friends and family, riding carrier waves to inform them of the promise of a summer day in the middle of winter. The cattle call had begun.

  There was just a whisper of a humid wind at the top of the cliff and Travis felt the rising heat under his rib brace. The band of the sling over his shoulder started to cut and itch. He had a healthy sweat going and his injuries were growing restless under the pinch of the strengthening sun. Cautiously, he pushed his mended fingers deep into a front pocket on his shorts in search of relief. There was first a wad of napkins to get around, then a set of car keys that reminded him, again, to be slow, and after a brief painful dance through some loose change, he found the smooth plastic corners of his pillbox. He pulled it out and inspected it. This one was clear and innocent. Inside were half a dozen tablets of Ibuprofen, their benefit more psychologically appeasing than actually helpful. If he let himself believe in their power, then it would seem as if the finest edge of pain had been shaved away, but mostly they did nothing, leaving the impression that every single injury sustained its own heartbeat — even those nowhere near his heart.

  He actually didn't need to wear the sling anymore, but it provided extra comfort when he walked for an extended period of time and he often made the mistake of swinging the weight of his arm naturally without it — as if a bullet had never ripped through his deltoid and left him with two gaping holes.

  For the first five days of his two-week hospital stint, they had him on heavy painkillers, mostly Norco and Codeine, but he hated the destructive, grey cloud that continually eroded his judgment, and opted to remove all opiates from his treatment. He certainly suffered greatly for this decision, but the benefit of mental clarity superseded it, and with every passing day a new path began to form in his mind. It was the only possible way back to his salvaged life.

/>   Hospitalization had been good for Travis.

  During his two-week stretch lying in a hospital bed, his body had been forced through a detox, fought off infection, and ever-so-subtly tiptoed toward recovery. Time had turned him inside out, and what ensued were long bouts of introspection and a serious reevaluation of his life. He realigned his priorities and the practice of simple gratitude had taken root while he woke to a sunlit room. He realized just how broken he had become — physically, emotionally; robbed completely of his spirituality. While lying there in pain and misery, he'd never felt so lucky to watch his own chest rise and fall, as if he'd been granted a second miracle. And his fragmented family too! Bella was unharmed and probably happily swinging a new umbrella somewhere under the grey skies of Bucharest; Ana probably watching her and warning her if she sat in mud again they'd spend the rest of the afternoon doing chores inside.

  Travis chased the two Ibuprofen with a bottle of warm water that he'd found earlier that morning in the trunk of his car. He tried to switch his labored breathing to shallow breaths and settle his terribly sore ribs. It wasn't uncommon that a cruel stab in his side would take him to his knees, where he'd hold his breath for as long as he could.

  The doctor had threatened Travis with light exercise, and the trail at Point Dume State Beach was perfect, since it was more of a walk than a hike. It was important for Travis to take deep breaths and fight off the mucous and moisture building inside his lungs — otherwise, a nasty case of pneumonia would easily present itself. The doctor had also told him that his bruised ribs could take three to four weeks, fractured bones six to eight, and shattered ribs (mostly Travis's diagnosis) could take up to a year. He'd also prepared him for the strong possibility of experiencing a sharp, occasional jab at his side — described as being bucked with a high-heeled shoe — for the rest of his life. The two of them shared an all-knowing wink after Travis informed him he'd been married before.