Infinite Doom

by Brian Bowyer

“Yes. When summer’s over, I’m not going back to school.”

  “Your father,” Jimmy said. “Is he hurting you again?”

  She nodded. “I have to get away from here.”

  Jimmy took a drink. “We can leave right now, if you want to.” He handed her the bottle.

  Christina took a drink. Then she shook her head. “No. Not tonight. I have to pack some clothes and grab a few things first. Plus I’ll need a couple hours of sleep. Can we leave tomorrow?”

  “Sure, Baby.”

  They finished the bottle, and then he took her home. Christina got out and Jimmy drove away.

  • • •

  She stepped into the house, expecting darkness. Instead, the living-room light was on and her father was sitting on the sofa. He took a drink of whiskey, and then set the bottle on the coffee table.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look who decided to make it home before dawn.”

  Christina said nothing and headed toward her bedroom.

  “So where the hell you been, anyway?”

  “I’ve been out.”

  “Out? All summer long?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who the hell you been out with? Have you found yourself a boyfriend?”

  Christina turned to face him. “Yes. His name is Jimmy.”

  Her father took a drink. Then he put the bottle back down and stood up. “Well, if I ever see this Jimmy fucker, I’m beating his fucking ass.”

  Christina laughed. “In your dreams, old man. In your stupid, drunken dreams.” She went into her room. She closed the door behind her and locked it.

  Moments later, her father tried the knob. Then he simply kicked the bedroom door in. It crashed open and slammed against a wall. “Old man, huh? I’ll show you an old fucking man.”

  He wrapped a meaty hand around her throat and gave her a shove. The backs of her legs hit the bed and she fell back onto the mattress.

  Then her father was on top of her. “Look at you, dressed like a goddamn whore. You wanna be a whore? I’ll treat you like a fucking whore.”

  “No! Please! Leave me alone!”

  “Daddy’s little whore,” he said, leering. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, and she could see drops of it glistening in the hair on his chin and neck. “You’ve been a bad girl, Christina, and I’m going to give you the punishment you deserve.”

  “No! Please!” She shook her head and tears spilled down her face.

  “Leave her alone, old man, or you’re going to be a dead old man.”

  Jimmy’s voice. Christina raised her head and saw Jimmy standing at the foot of the bed. She had not heard his car pull up outside. Nor had she heard him enter the house or her bedroom. But there he was, nevertheless, just like he had promised her that he always would be.

  Her father rose from the bed and turned to face him. “You must be Jimmy. Are you the punk who’s going to take my daughter away from me?”

  “Yes,” Jimmy said. “Christina is coming with me.”

  Christina’s father shrugged. “So be it.”

  Christina had by then sat up on the bed, and her father turned to look at her. “I wish you had been in the car when your mother died,” he said.

  He turned to Jimmy again and put a hand on his shoulder. When he did, Christina thought that Jimmy looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

  “She’s all yours now,” Christina’s father said. Then he slowly staggered out of the room.

  Christina rose up off the bed. She ran fingers through her hair. “Fuck leaving tomorrow. I’m ready to leave tonight.”

  Jimmy still had that weird look on his face, like he had just seen a ghost.

  “Jimmy,” Christina said, “are you okay?”

  “Your mother’s death,” he said. “It was no accident.”

  She put a hand on a hip and cocked her head. “So what are you suggesting? That she crashed into the abutment on purpose and killed herself? Because I’ve often wondered if that’s what really happened.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No. Your father poked a tiny hole in the brake line. Slow leak. He didn’t know when she would crash, and he was hoping that you would be in the car, too.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Trust me: I just do.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve often wondered if that’s what really happened, too.”

  And then Christina’s father was standing in the bedroom doorway. She saw with horror that he was holding what was probably his favorite handgun: a Ruger Blackhawk .44 Magnum revolver. She knew that he always kept the gun loaded with hollow-point bullets.

  He stepped into the room and pointed the gun at Jimmy’s chest. “I changed my mind, you son of a bitch. Christina’s not going anywhere.” He pulled the trigger.

  Christina screamed and closed her eyes as the gunfire’s report filled the bedroom. She heard her father squeeze the trigger five more times as he unloaded the .44 on her boyfriend.

  Then she heard her father say: “What the fuck?”

  Christina opened her eyes.

  Jimmy stood maybe two feet in front her of father, unscathed. There were six holes in the wall directly behind him, as if the bullets had either swerved around him or passed right through his body.

  “What are you?” her father asked Jimmy. “A fucking ghost?”

  Jimmy shrugged.

  “Fuck it,” her father said. “I must be drunk. I’m going to bed.” Then he slowly staggered out of the room again.

  Christina looked at Jimmy. “How long have you been dead?”

  “I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “But I know I love you.”

  “I love you too. When my father put a hand on your shoulder, is that when you found out that he killed my mother?”

  Jimmy nodded.

  Christina nodded back. “It won’t take me very long to pack.”

  She filled a duffel bag with some clothes, an extra pair of shoes, and a few photographs of her mother. Then she turned to Jimmy. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  He offered her his car keys. “You feel like driving? For some reason, I’m tired all of a sudden.”

  “Sure, Baby.” She took his keys and put them in her pocket. Then she handed him her duffel bag. “I’ll meet you in the car. I want to brush my teeth.”

  “Okay, Baby.” He took her bag and left.

  She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. When she was finished, she took the toothbrush with her into the kitchen. She put the toothbrush in a sandwich baggie and shoved it in her back pocket. Then she wrapped her right hand in a dishrag and used it to grab a claw hammer from the utility drawer.

  Her father was already passed out when she stepped into his bedroom. She tried to slap him awake a couple of times, but he never even budged. Christina raised the hammer. “This is for my mother.” Then she brought the hammer straight down onto the center of his forehead. She was pretty sure the first blow killed him, but she kept swinging the hammer until nothing remained of his head and face but a bloody, unrecognizable mess.

  She left the hammer and the dishrag on the bed. Then she took Jimmy’s keys from her pocket and went outside.

  Stars dotted the sky. The moon was a silver sickle. All she heard were the nighttime sounds of crickets and other summer insects.

  The body of Jimmy’s car looked darker than the night as she approached it, like ink spilled on a black canvas. Its chrome shone brightly in the moonlight.

  Jimmy was holding her duffel bag on the passenger’s side when she got in and sat down behind the steering wheel. She put the key in the ignition and started the car. The engine rumbled to life. She felt the steering wheel vibrate in her hands and saw the hood tremble like the flank of an animal. She pressed down lightly on the accelerator and imagined racehorses awaiting the sound of gunfire.

  “Where we going, Baby?” Jimmy said.

  She put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. She looked over at Jimmy and saw that his form was rapidly losing solidity. “I don’t
know yet.” She put the car in drive and headed west.

  She drove in silence for a couple of miles. Then she looked over at Jimmy and saw that his form was more transparent than before. “Where do you go,” she said, “whenever you fade?”

  “Elsewhere,” he said, smiling dreamily. “Other places.”

  Christina cracked her window. The night wind felt wonderful in her hair. “I’m going with you.”

  The bridge abutment into which her mother had crashed was visible in the distance. Christina headed straight for it and floored the accelerator.

  BROTHER’S KEEPER

  Autumn struck a match in October as it always did, setting the trees ablaze with fires that provided no warmth. The air was cool and would soon be getting colder. Ten-year-old Sydney and her brother would soon have to head south or to the west or else they would freeze to death. They usually made enough money to stay in motel rooms at night, but not always.

  Fortunately, they already had a motel room for tonight. Her brother was back in the motel room right now, resting, but Sydney was out walking around the city, looking for the red-light district.

  She found it with ease. No matter where they went, it was never all that difficult to find a red-light district. She decided to come back later, when the freaks were out prowling in the night.

  Sydney passed the city fairgrounds on her way back to the motel. The fairgrounds were crowded with people, thrill-rides, flashing neon signs, and a caravan of trucks and trailers. Traveling carnival, she thought, and smiled.

  Her brother, of course, would have no interest in the carnival, but Sydney did. She had a few dollars in her pocket, and decided to buy a ticket. Moments later, she was eating pink cotton candy while walking up the midway. She strolled past concession stands, games of chance, and kiddie rides. She saw an Octopus, a Tilt-A-Whirl, and a Zipper. There was a Ferris wheel. There was a carousel with mythological characters instead of horses. There was a funhouse with a maniacally laughing clown waving from the balcony.

  And then she saw a sign for a freak show. There was an arrow on the sign pointed toward a large red tent. There was a banner atop the tent on which was printed: Dr. Odd’s Marvels.

  Sydney approached the tent.

  There was a man standing behind a ticket booth by the front entrance. He was tall, skinny, and bald. His pock-marked face was gaunt and very pale. He looked to be about fifty. He was dressed in a white lab coat with a stethoscope wrapped around his neck. He held a wheel of pasteboard tickets in one hand and a bullhorn in the other. “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, to Dr. Odd’s Marvels! You’ll be shocked and amazed by the astonishing collection of monstrosities that I have gathered for you! My name is Dr. Odd, and I have traveled to the farthest reaches of the planet to bring back marvels for your enjoyment and entertainment!”

  Sydney held up some money to purchase a ticket. There was no one else in line at the ticket booth.

  Dr. Odd lowered his bullhorn, looked down at her, and smiled. “My, my, my, little girl. If you ain’t the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day, then my name ain’t Dr. Odd. What’s your name, pretty girl?”

  “Sydney.”

  “And how old are you, Sydney?”

  “Ten.”

  “I’ll tell you what, Sydney: a girl as pretty as you gets in for free.” He put a hand on her shoulder and ushered her inside. “Just move on ahead and keep to the right.”

  The interior smelled of sawdust, and was divided into sections by canvases and sheets. Each exhibit had its own booth, with wooden platforms on which the customers could stand and view the performers.

  The first display belonged to Pee-Wee and Minnie, who were billed as the World’s Smallest Couple. They were the size of toddlers. Their cubicle was designed to resemble a living room—with a sofa, a coffee table, and a TV scaled to accommodate the occupants. Despite their childlike sizes, Pee-Wee and Minnie wore adult hairstyles and adult clothes tailored to fit their tiny bodies. They smiled at Sydney and launched into a story about their origins, and how they met, and how happy they were together as a couple. They spoke with high-pitched voices, and could easily be mistaken as children pretending to be adults—until you saw their faces.

  The second stage belonged to a bearded fat lady wearing a large purple dress and a blood-red velvet cape. Sydney was unimpressed. She had seen fatter women with bigger beards shopping at Walmart while traveling across America with her brother.

  She stopped at three or four more equally unimpressive booths before coming to the final stage in the tent. Unlike the other exhibits, a theater curtain obscured the final stage. The velvet curtain was red, with black tassels on the hem. Sydney wondered what it could be hiding. Then the curtain was pulled back and flute music began to play.

  Sydney saw a pale woman with black hair standing at the back of the stage. The woman was playing a flute. She stepped forward and Sydney saw that she was naked except for a huge snake that was wrapped around her torso and her limbs.

  The woman moved to the front of the stage and continued to play her flute with the great serpent wrapped around her body. The snake’s skin sparkled beneath the spotlight. Sydney figured it had to be either a boa constrictor or a python. In any case, it was certainly bigger than any snake she had ever seen except for maybe on a movie screen. She had no idea how the woman was able to support its weight.

  The serpent’s head was perched on the woman’s shoulder, facing Sydney, and easily as big as a canine’s. Its forked tongue probed the air. Its dark eyes seemed to be looking right at her with a blazing, unwavering gaze. The intensity of its stare was unnerving. Feeling a claustrophobic panic rising within, Sydney fled.

  She emerged from the tent’s exit. She was relieved to see that the sun had set. It was almost nighttime. The first stars of twilight were sparkling.

  She was hungry. She still had a few dollars in her pocket, but carnival food was expensive. She left the fairgrounds and walked to a McDonald’s a few blocks down the street. She went inside and ordered some food to go. She took her food to a park not far away and sat down at a picnic table near the edge of a small patch of forest.

  When she was younger, the forest had been her cathedral: the solace of trees swinging in the breeze; the sweet songs that leaves play; sunlight mottling floors of cedar needle and soft carpets of glorious moss. Now that she was ten, however (and now that she and her brother were on their own), she didn’t get a chance to go into the forest very often. Maybe one day she and her brother could settle down in a place that was warm and live happily ever after in a forest.

  She ate her food. She finished her soda. Then she stretched out atop the picnic table and took a nap.

  When she woke up, the park was empty. A quarter-moon was shining and stars dotted the sky.

  Sydney took off walking. She walked to the red-light district. She hadn’t been there long when she felt a hand come down on her shoulder. She spun around and looked up into the smiling face of Dr. Odd. There was mischief in his eyes, and he no longer wore the lab coat or the stethoscope.

  “Well hello there, Sydney. I didn’t expect to see you again—especially not in a place of such ill repute as this. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in the red-light district?”

  Sydney shrugged. “What else? I’m trying to make some money. Do you like little girls?”

  Still smiling, Dr. Odd cocked his head. “Well, I suppose you could say I like little girls and little boys.”

  “Which do you like better?”

  Dr. Odd scratched his head. “Little boys, usually. But little girls can be fun, too.”

  “I have an older brother,” Sydney said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. He’s eleven. He wants to make some money, too. He’s back in our motel room. Would you like to meet him?”

  “Is he as pretty as you?”

  Sydney smiled and nodded. “He’s beautiful.”

  Dr. Odd’s smile grew even wider. “Well, in that case, I would love to meet him
. My car’s right over there. Come on. Let’s go.”

  They got in his car and Dr. Odd drove them away.

  On their way to the motel, Sydney said: “Can we stop at a store? I need to get some candy and some trash bags.”

  “Of course. I need to get more liquor, anyway.”

  They stopped at a grocery store that sold liquor. Both of them went inside. Sydney bought candy and trash bags. Dr. Odd bought two bottles of liquor.

  Then they went to the nearby motel. They entered the room, each carrying a bag of their own. Dr. Odd closed the door behind them.

  “Will you lock it, please?” Sydney said.

  “Of course.” Dr. Odd locked the door.

  Sydney sat down at the dinette table. She took her small box of trash bags and her candy out of the plastic sack and started eating some candy.

  Dr. Odd sat down on the edge of the bed. He opened one of his bottles (he left the other one in his car) of liquor and took a drink. “Nice place. Very relaxing.”

  Sydney nodded. They could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom.

  Dr. Odd took another drink. “Is your brother taking a shower?”

  “Yes,” Sydney said. “He wants to be clean for you. You like your little boys to be clean, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes.” Dr. Odd flashed her a grin. “And sometimes I like them to be dirty.”

  He got up and started walking around the room. There was a yellow raincoat resting atop the dresser. Next to the raincoat was a red motorcycle helmet with a black face shield. He picked the raincoat up and let it unfurl to the floor. The raincoat was about as long as he was tall. “Is this your father’s?”

  Sydney shook her head. “No. Our parents are dead.”

  “Your brother’s?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Odd’s eyes shot to the bathroom door. “Your brother is tall.”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Odd smiled. “I like them tall.”

  He set the raincoat back down on the dresser. Then he had a seat on the edge of the bed again and took another drink of liquor. “Mind if I take my shoes off?”

  Sydney shook her head. “No. Go right ahead.”

  Dr. Odd took his shoes off.