It was on my third week there that things turned for the worst; and I'd lose the only person I was growing close to. The thing is, ever since I arrived, no one died. People started talking about me, like I was some heaven-sent omen. It was good that I was around. People were happier. Grateful. There were times when I'd be walking down the street, walking through a village, and people would throw flowers at my feet. Many people gave me balut, and yes, I had to eat them right then and there. Fake smile and all. Sharon approved. And if you don't know what balut is, I'll tell ya. It's an egg with a chicken fetus inside. And you eat it.
So night falls, 10 strikes, and all the windows close again.
I asked grandma and grandpa about Sharon, but no one knew where she was. There was a thump upstairs, in her room, so I went up and knocked on her door. It was unlocked...I opened it.
It was the first time I saw Sharon's room. There were computer parts everywhere. It was like a huge junk pile. But it was the smell that made my belly turn sour. It was that DEAD CAT smell. Again. Back AGAIN. Memories of my stay in that dark room all came running back, breaking my brain. I had to throw up, but my legs wouldn't listen and turn around. They walked to the bed...to the gurgling sounds coming from between the bed and the window. I called for Sharon.
Her head popped up. SHOCKED. Wide-eyed. She didn't recognize me at all. Sharon looked so old....
She rolled onto the bed.
I remember I was saying, “Grandma...grandma....” But I could only whisper.
Sharon was on her back. Her breaths came in and out in little, rapid pfft-pfft's.
She clawed at her belly. She ripped her shirt off and dug INTO her belly, into her guts. She was yanking on her intestines, pulling them out like ropes. And yet, no blood. Water-ish liquid, but not a spot of blood.
I screamed out for help, and Sharon's legs ran away from her. They went into the closet and knocked over boxes. Sharon whipped her wet head at me and hissed. Her eyes were hungry. She hopped off the bed with her hands and came after me. I kicked her in the face and ran out and closed the door, pressing my back against it. Grandpa ran up to me with a knife.
“I knew this day would come.” He pushed me aside.
Sharon's head rammed straight through the door. I was reminded of that scene from The Shining. Sharon started to spit at us in a crazy way.
“I'll eat you out!” she went. “Please?!”
Grandpa shoved the knife in her eye, and I shoved my face into grandma's chest. Grandpa kicked the door open and grabbed Sharon's head and drove it into a computer that was left on. Sharon fried on impact. The place begun to stink.
The next morning, everyone in town is throwing roses and exotic meats at me. My grandpa wanted none of the attention. He was shy. We all made our way to the woods where a huge fire was waiting. Sharon's torso and legs were wrapped in white sheets. The wind picked up and the sheet over her head went away. She was young again. Face perfect. Not burnt. Her eyes were closed, and she looked peaceful. Beautiful. Her body parts...they were thrown into the fire. There were two groups of people at the burning: my family, and everyone else.
Everyone else cheered and clapped and danced.
The monster was dead; people were safe.
My family hugged and cried.
Me too.
I cried.
THE END
Epilogue
That was a long time ago.
I'm a grown ass woman now. I have a family – five girls. (Yes, you heard right. Five.) I have a job selling balut to tourists, and the money is really good. People who are adventurous, or bored, like odd foods. My husband is real good to me. He's an army guy, so I don't see him as much. But it's alright. The kids keep me company. As for all those horrible things that happened when I was younger...I don't tell the kids anything about it, and I asked my relatives to do the same.
Maybe when they're older we can talk about it. I really don't think the kids are ready to hear such nasty stuff. They won't be able to stomach it. They're still soft. One time our youngest, Mel, got into a fight with a school punk right in front of me. She lost. She embarrassed me. I took her by the hand and then I kicked that bully right in the gut. He went flying back like a little doll. I almost laughed. As for my daughter, I shook her and said that next time some bully throws a punch, she should move to the damn side and go for the kneecaps. I don't get it. Any fool knows THAT.
We'll be moving soon. Mike and I have been saving up money to make it happen. I miss home. I miss Hawaii. Even after all the bad stuff that happened there, I just wanna go back home again. It's okay now. Things there have blown over. Not like here. The Philippines is far too dangerous. Too many monsters. Hawaii is safer. I can raise my kids well there. Raise them right. I feel connected to that island.
I feel called.
Cebu
2011
Cutthroat Heroes
LATER....
A rock hit him in the face. She jumped down from a tree and bit him, ripping off a chunk of his neck. He tripped over some animal and landed on his face, right in mud. She stood in front of him, holding that big knife above her head. Trees fell all around her. She yelled through the raging fire.
“You filthy bastard! Why didn't you just let me be??? Look what you've done. Look what you've turned me into! Is this your idea of love???”
He spat in her face. She kicked him in the chest.
“So useless!” she wept. “Your job is to give me everything. Look at you....You have no money, no future – no car. You're useless to me!”
She walked toward him as she spoke, still holding the blade in the air with both hands. It was getting so noisy with the crackling of flames, she was literally screaming her words.
“YOU'RE USELESS TO ME!”
He crawled back.
A strange sound in the air – a sharp wiiiiiirrrrrrrr.
Something exploded through her chest. She dropped the knife and looked down at the situation.
CHAPTER ONE
MY HEROES
FRAN MURUDA
The little punk wouldn't stop crying.
“Shut him up,” I told the mother, “or I'll stick this needle in his eye.”
She nodded and grabbed the boy and spanked him. She seemed to understand. I had to work. I had to shove that big needle into that dumb dog and fix him up. The kid didn't seem to get it. I put that needle into that dog's brain, and it barked and kicked and tried to F'ing bite me. The little boy grabbed his dog and ran off.
“Drap!” the mom said. “Drap! You come back here right this red hot minute!”
I threw my hands up.
“I can't work like this. I'm done!”
The mom begged me to reconsider, but I brushed her aside.
“Doesn't matter,” I said. “Your dumb dog is gonna die soon. Nothing I can do. Too many worms in his brain.”
I went home early. I had other things to take care of. My hobby waited. My passion.
Babiroin. My prized invention. The drug of the century!
I went to every street corner, every dark alley – traveled all over Oahu – selling the stuff. It was becoming quite popular. Word was spreading. First Hawaii, then the world.
The man on the phone sounded nervous. I was gentle with him.
“How much do you want?”
He thought about it.
“Just one heart for now. I want to sample it first.”
“The price is a thousand for one.”
“Hmm. That's a bit much.”
“How much you got? I'm sure we can work something out.”
He cleared his throat.
“How about we trade?”
“Depends what it is.”
“I provide a service,” he said. “It's very popular and very expensive, but for one of your hearts, I'll gladly make sure you get a session.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Look, if this is another pornography thing, I'm not interested. The last guy ripped me off. Left me tied to some motorized wheelcha
ir. I ended up on the street, naked and humiliated.”
The man on the phone laughed.
“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that,” he said.
I was getting impatient.
“Well, what then? Spit it out, man. I have a lot to do today.”
“Have you ever wanted someone?”
I caught my breath.
“What was that?”
“Wanted someone you couldn't have.”
Jesus, what a fool.
“Right,” I said. “Haven't we all?”
“What if I said there was a way to make him fall in love with you. That I could guarantee it. What then?”
Something in my chest turned hot. I imagined Phil and I making love. I wanted him. Needed him and his money. Centuries ago, when I heard that he was marrying Carmen, I lost it and ran up to the roof of my apartment and jumped off. Sadly, I landed on a passing truck hauling manure, and suffered minor injuries. Carmen got all the good ones – all the rich ones. I had dream journals about Phil. I had dreams of swimming in his money, kissing his money, having sex with his money.
“I'd be very interested in this service,” I said. “How do I sign up?”
I could hear the man on the other end of the phone grin.
“Sunday. Come to church. Everything will be set up and sterilized.”
“I'm sorry. I think I heard you say 'sterilized'?”
“Yes, that's right,” he said. “It's a whole medical procedure. Completely safe. We're very professional. Nothing to worry about.”
“And this is all happening at church?”
“It's a very hush-hush business activity, you understand. Much like what you do.”
“How do I know this ain't a bunch of crap? That you won't screw me?”
“I'm a priest,” he said.
I nodded.
“That's all I need to hear.”
That was all I needed to hear. Hey, if a man of the cloth can work his voodoo in my favor – if I could get God on my side for once – I'd give just about anything.
“I'll be there,” I said. “Who do I ask for?”
“Lolligal,” he said. “Ask for Father Lolligal.”
I was taken to the confessional, where I sat down. A window across from me the size of my hand opened, and Father Lolligal's sweaty face popped up.
“Do you have the stuff?”
I showed him the box.
“Right here,” I said.
He must've flicked a switch or something, because a little door opened up by my feet, and a robotic hand came out, opening and closing. I gave it the box, and it shot back into the hole. That Lolligal-guy opened the box and looked at the heart, holding it close to his face. It was still beating – still fresh – made his hands bloody.
“The first time I tried this,” he said, “I was in bliss. Total bliss. No drug has ever done that for me. Amazing work. You are a genius, my girl.”
I couldn't help but let my ego smile.
“Thanks.”
He shoved the heart into his mouth, munched on it, swallowed it. The effects hit him hard. He laughed all the time and hit the walls of the booth, mumbling something about the wonders of science – the wonders of the pyramids. And then he recited the alphabet backwards. He did it in song, like a monk would. I was impressed. But then he got really loud – almost angry-loud. Nuns were constantly asking if he was okay, and he'd yell at them to go away and make him a sandwich. We were in there for an hour. Nuns gave him something like twenty sandwiches. He calmed down a bit by then. He was nearing the end of the high – the best part; the peaceful part. Lolligal had to wipe his mouth with four wet rags to get all the blood off.
“Thank you,” he said, crying. “I'm so happy right now. Thank you.”
We got out of the confessional and hugged. A nun gave us sandwiches, and we ate.
“I'm glad you had fun,” I said. “Now it's my turn.”
He took me to a room where everything was white.
I even had to put on a white gown – the kind that shows your butt. Priests dressed like surgeons helped me onto a cold, metal table. Lolligal walked out from a white door, also dressed like a surgeon. They tied me down. I started panicking, but Lolligal assured me everything was going according to plan.
“This will all be over in a minute,” he said. “Trust me. I'm a priest.”
And I believed him.
Sure. Why not?
I eased back, and one of his assistants injected me with an anesthetic that made my body numb. Lolligal took out an even bigger needle – the biggest needle I ever saw in my life. Lolligal had to use both his hands to carry the damn thing, hovering it over my chest.
“Everyone has a little love ghost,” he said. “Inject yours into the target, and it will immediately take over his heart. He falls madly in love with you. Madly! There is no escape. What's not to understand?” He went on, “This whole thing was invented by Hitler so many years ago. It's how he got his men to fall in love with him and do whatever he wanted.” He smiled down at me. “Ready? Here it comes....”
He stuck the needle into my heart and sucked out a little ghost, then shot it into a jar. A nun in white sealed it tight.
Lolligal put his hand on my head.
“Now that wasn't so bad, was it?”
I shook my head, and he smiled.
“Now tell me....Who do you want to fall in love with you?”
When I woke up, I was still in that white room. No one was around. I felt strange. Heavier. Like I gained a few pounds. I walked out of that room with a really bad headache. Father Lolligal was in his office, writing at his desk. He looked up and smiled at me, asking if everything was okay. I said I needed some water, and then I blacked out. I woke up an hour later on his couch.
Father Lolligal walked me outside and handed me my receipt. It read:
Total: $1,000 (fee waived). Server is Father Lolligal. Thank you for using Cutthroat Heroes. Tell your friends!
My eyes hurt. I massaged my temples.
“How long until he's mine?”
The priest looked at his watch.
“Sometime at night. Just drive to where I told you and wait there. He'll show. I promise to God.” He noticed something over my shoulder. I turned around and saw a black van with a big golden cross painted on its side. Lolligal turned serious. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to take care of some business.”
He walked over to the van. A window rolled down, and someone stuck out a little rattan plate. Lolligal put a bunch of money on it (coins, too), and the van honked and drove away. He didn't say anything about them, and I didn't ask. I was too scared. Something was wrong with that van. It felt like I was being watched. Almost like if I said anything about them – got too nosey – they'd know somehow and rub me out. Maybe put a plague on my house. Bad vibes from that van. Play it safe. Forget you ever saw it. Moving on....
Later that night, I drove to where Lolligal said – I sat in my car and wondered if it was all true. I was getting impatient. I got in and out of my car many times, pacing on the dirt road, trying to decide if I should crash into Lolligal's church and punish him for ripping me off. But...I wanted to believe him.
Relax. Just give him a chance. Calm down.
Would Lolligal's little service work?
Would Phil be in love with me?
Was it that easy?
PHIL MONTOBON
“Would you smoke in a burning house?”
The stranger said it to me with a smile. I put my cigarette out, and he nodded and walked away. Just as well. I was gonna quit anyway. Carmen never had a problem with me smoking, but I felt too guilty seeing her cough all the time. The great bell rang. I looked up at the church, squinted at the sun behind the cross. Kids – all dressed up like little business people – ran out laughing, adults behind them happy to finally be out of that hot place.
I walked in and thought about Carmen.
Soon, our families would be all over the church, all gossiping and comparing clothes and
whatever else people did in church that they know they shouldn't be doing. When were we getting married? We didn't know. Soon. Sometime within that year. She loved the ring...showed me how much she loved it through a night of mad passion on the roof of the house. There was no one else for me. She was it. The one. After years of dating other fools and all that heartache and all that bull crap, she was the one. My checklist was made. She passed the test. Carmen was the one, and I was gonna have her all to myself. Marriage. Right? Isn't that the point? To claim someone?
I walked toward the booth. A man walked out, crying.
“I should have never confessed!” he said, shaking his head as he ran out of the church.
A mat on the floor read, “Home is Where the Heart Is”. I wiped my feet on it and walked in. The tiny space smelled like feet. The seat was hard on my butt. I figured they didn't want people hanging around too long.
The priest on the other side jumped.
“What? Who's there?”
I cleared my throat.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Phil? Is that you?”
“Yes. Do I know you?”
A little window slid open. I couldn't believe it.
“Father Lolligal!” I said. “I didn't know you were back in Honolulu.”
He was just as happy to see me.
“Just got in this morning! I was in Africa for a long time – demonic possessions and all that jazz. You would've enjoyed it, my boy. One time, I had to exorcise a demon from a little boy while riding on a runaway elephant. Quite exciting!”
“A real one???”
“Of course not,” he laughed. “That stuff isn't real. It's all due to mental illness. Some people don't know the difference between a demon possessing them and the common cold. It's true! They just think they're possessed – all spitting and cursing and fighting. All very exhausting. I was going to send you pictures, but I didn't want to frighten you. How have you been? How's Carmen?”
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