Prelude to Space Rape! & Other Stories

by Jordan Krall

  III.

  Davie said, “So that’s when I decided I wasn’t gonna ever talk to my mom again, you know, not unless it was totally necessary.” He picked at crayon wax on the table.

  “Well, you just have to think about the future and whether you’re going to need your mother. Guys like us, guys who are in and out of here, we need any support we can get,” Phil said.

  “Guys like us? Like who? Me and you? Grant?”

  “Yeah, maybe Grant.”

  “Grant is such a fucking psycho!”

  Phil shook his head. “No he’s not.”

  Davie shrugged. “Whatever.” He put a crayon in his mouth, letting it hang between his lips like a cigarette. “But what about your father? I heard some stories about him……”

  Phil frowned and looked down at the table. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Heh, yeah. I heard he’s real fucked up,” Davie said, giggling. “Probably more fucked up than my mom. So how do you feel about that? I mean, being more fucked up than me? You know that, right? That you’re more fucked up than me? Everyone knows it. I may be all loud and shit but people look at you and they know you’re a fucking psycho.”

  Phil rolled his eyes. Now he understood Grant’s anger whenever Davie came around. Mental illness aside, the guy was an asshole. He was also on about four different meds. Phil couldn’t even remember them all. Molochiana. Baalozam. Melqarta. Decetoium. Or was it Uduhul? Shit, who could keep track?

  Davie leaned in close. “You getting pissed at me or something? You gonna spazz out like your buddy there? I’ll tell you something about Grant. He’s someone you have to watch. You know, like your dad. So tell me about him. Your dad. Come on.”

  “Minnesota, Minnesota, Minnesota,” Phil said. “Please, Davie, just leave me alone.”

  “Leave you alone? That’s a good one. This isn’t real life, man. Look where we are. This might as well be a fucking dream. None of the shit we do in here has any real world consequences. Stop acting like your guarding some big important secrets. Fuck that. It doesn’t matter, especially not here. So tell me about your fucking dad.”

  Phil was speechless. It wasn’t that Davie was convincing him of anything. The guy was a rambler. He just liked to ramble and if you actually looked to gain anything by it, you’d sure be in for a pointless quest. No, Phil felt at a loss for words because never in a million years did he think his depression would bring him to the point of being harassed into talking about his father.

  “Just quit it.”

  “Stop being a baby,” Davie said. He flicked wax at Phil. “Look at you. You’re spazzing out like crazy. Just tell me about your dad.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Oh yeah? Really? I heard he’s been in the visitor’s wing for three weeks waiting for you to go talk to him. Why is that? Why won’t you talk to him?”

  Phil shook his head. “Davie, for real, just shut up.”

  “Don’t you know that most of the time when I ask a question, I already know the answer? You don’t think I already know all about your little father issues?”

  “Oh my god, shut the fuck up!”

  Davie snorted. He threw Phil a grin that revealed all his bright porcelain teeth. “I guess they’re big father issues, eh?”

  Phil put his hands on the table and stood up. Before he could walk away, Davie grabbed his wrist tightly.

  “Where’re you going? You gonna tell on me?” Davie let go of Phil’s wrist. Why don’t you go tell your daddy I’m picking on you? He gonna spank me? Bet you’d want to watch that, huh, psycho?”

  Before he could convince himself to do otherwise, Phil found his fists flying at Davie’s face. He connected twice and felt the jawbone tear the skin on his knuckles. A fist answered his attack and knocked him right in the nose. Phil fell back on his ass and Davie jumped on top of him.

  Davie threw punches for a minute and then stopped abruptly when he heard the orderlies come through the door. “I guess I’ll have to tell on you, then. Maybe I’ll tell your daddy. He’s in on of the visitor’s rooms, right? Which one? Oersted or Crocidura?

  Phil didn’t answer.

  “Oh well, I guess I’ll figure it out. Of course, I hate to be the bringer of bad news but he should know his son is a violent psycho.”

  Phil turned his head and spat blood. He wanted to say something back to Davie but knew whatever he said would come out sounding pathetic. Besides, he didn’t want to make matters worse. No doubt the cameras recorded the fact that he was the one who threw the first punch. The doctors wouldn’t necessarily care if Davie instigated the whole thing. All they cared about was control and rehabilitation in a safe and productive environment.

  Yeah right.

  Phil closed his eyes and looked at his forehead. His third eye exploded and forced him to blackout.

  IV.

  Dr. Joshua Silverman scratched his ankle. Something must have bitten him during the night. There was a red spot the size of a dime that itched like hell. Were there spiders in his house? There better not be. He hated spiders. The fucking things reminded him of his Uncle Ronnie who was all legs and no torso. Shit, the summers Joshua had to spend at Ronnie’s house…..He didn’t want to think about it.

  A knock on the door startled him out of the memories of Uncle Ronnie and his ugly games. A nurse poked her head into the room. “Someone’s here to see you, doctor.”

  “Who?”

  “Grant Minissi.”

  Joshua sighed. “Send him in, Barb.”

  “Alrighty,” the nurse said. She left only to be replaced by Grant, his face red and his hair wet.

  “Grant, take a seat,” Dr. Silverman said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, why are you here? You asked to see me. You remember our deal? If you ask to see me, we can’t just sit in silence. We have to talk, preferably about what’s bothering you.”

  Grant shrugged.

  “Did you read the literature I gave you yesterday?”

  “Yeah,” Grant said. “But it doesn’t make any sense. At least not to me. But I don’t know how it can help, really. I’m just having trouble with…”

  “Grant, I told you before I can’t give you anything to help you sleep. Not anymore.”

  “That’s not it. Jesus, forget it. I’ll go,” Grant said.

  “If you want to talk about something, that’s why I’m here. You don’t need to leave.”

  “It’s just that Davie, you know, he’s getting to me again. I feel like maybe I’m not in control anymore, like any second I can just explode and then I’ll be doing something I shouldn’t. You told me to warn you if I was going to get violent.”

  Dr. Silverman leaned back in his chair. “Should I consider this a warning, Grant?”

  “Yeah, probably,” he said. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have any specific plans for hurting Davie?”

  Grant fiddled with his fingers. He considered leaving the office. He considered picking up a paperweight from the desk and slamming it into Dr. Silverman’s skull. He considered leaving the room and raping that nurse Barbara, the one who looked like a bustier version of Carol Burnett. But then he thought he might not have to rape her. He’s noticed that she always seems to be eyeing him up like she’s undressing him with her eyes. Hell, he might just be able to ask for it and she’ll jump at the chance.

  Dr. Silverman said, “Well?”

  “What?”

  “Do you have any plans to hurt Davie?”

  “No, not anything specific.”

  “General plans, then?”

  “Maybe. Sort of.”

  “You know, at this point, you should tell me. If you end up doing something to him and I knew something like this was going to happen, I’ll be held responsible. So, if you respect me even just a little bit, you’ll tell me everything, Grant. It’ll benefit both of us. Understand?”

  “Yeah,” Grant said. “I guess.”

 
“So what set you off this time?”

  Grant stood up and started pacing the room. “I was talking to Phil and Davie just comes right up to the table acting like an asshole.”

  “No name calling. Describe the behavior.”

  “It was asshole behavior. Smashing crayons, talking shit about me, telling his stupid stories.”

  “His stupid stories. You’ve mentioned this before, not liking his stories. Do you think that’s really his fault?”

  Grant picked a frame up from the bookshelf and looked at the picture. It was Dr. Silverman and his father. Both men, looking wrinkly and tired, stood in front of a large black stone. Why would someone frame a picture like that?

  Dr. Silverman said, “Grant, I asked you a question. Do you think that’s really his fault?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that? It’s his fault, alright? He tells the same stories over and over and he knows damn well he’s annoying but he just keeps doing it. Are you saying that’s everyone else’s fault?”

  “I’m saying that your getting upset over it is your responsibility not his.”

  Grant said, “Bullshit.”

  The doctor leaned back in his chair and stared at Grant. They both kept up the eye contact until finally Grant said, “I’m leaving.”

  “No,” Dr. Silverman said. “Not yet.”

  V.

  After being questioned about the incident and signing a new behavior contract, Davie went down to the visitor’s rooms to find Phil’s father.

  He snickered the whole way down the corridors to the Outsiders Wing. Those stupid fuckers who ran the hospital didn’t know shit about him or the shit he chooses to do. So what he signed a new contract? He didn’t intend on keeping a word of it. Contracts were psychological comfort food. It just made everyone feel good while their reality didn’t change a bit.

  A nurse was standing near the visitor’s rooms, flipping through papers on a clipboard. Davie put on the charm and said, “Excuse me, miss.”

  The woman’s eyebrows were like skinny worms and they jumped up her forehead at the interruption. “Are you supposed to be here?”

  “Yes, Dr. Silverman said I could come down to talk to my friend’s father.”

  “Who’s the friend?”

  “Phil Machen.”

  The nurse grabbed another clipboard, traced her finger down the paper on top, and then stopped midway. “Yes, his father is in the Oersted room.”

  “Thank you,” Davie said, walking away.

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Sure do.” He couldn’t believe it had been that easy. He at least expected a few questions about why he was visiting his friend’s father instead of his friend. Shit, these idiots couldn’t run anything.

  When he got to the door, Davie looked through the window to see if he could pick out Phil’s father without having to ask someone. His eyes perused the waiting parents, siblings, spouses, and religious representatives. They were scattered around on benches, their sleeping bags at their feet or on their laps. Televisions on the walls gave them a choice of sports or soap operas. Vending machines in each corner of the room provided them with overpriced nacho cheese flavored tortilla chips, candy bars, breakfast pastries, soft drinks, tooth brushes, combs, and mouthwash.

  In the center of the room, there was a large hunk of glowing meat. It was about the size of a man but resembled one big torso. Davie thought it looked like a giant turd with metal tendrils looped in and out of it like electrified spaghetti.

  “There he is,” Davie said to himself.

  The meat was surrounded by worried mothers, bored children, and a priest but none of them were paying any attention. Instead, their eyes were on the televisions. The priest, however, kept glancing down at his bible as if to justify his watching of the heathen programming.

  Davie opened the door and walked right into the room with the kind of bravado he usually reserved for his fellow residents. He felt confident. These poor bastards had been waiting for days, maybe even weeks, to see their loved ones and so they surely had nothing to say about a cocky asshole walking into their turf.

  He approached the meat. “Mr. Machen?”

  Several of the tendrils started to glow. “Yes?” the meat said, the voice coming out of a grouping of small holes on its side.

  “My name is Davie. I’m a friend of Phil’s.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Davie you say?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Phil never mentioned you.”

  Davie shrugged. “I’m surprised because we’re pretty good friends. He always gives me his macaroni and cheese on Fridays.”

  “That so?” the meat said, its tendrils glowing brighter, elongating and stretching toward Davie. “My son loves mac and cheese. You sure you’re talking about the right person? Is there another Phil?”

  Davie smiled widely. “Nope, no other Phil. It’s the one and only. Your boy Phil. My boy Phil. Our boy Phil.”

  “So you came to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t Phil come see me himself?”

  Davie grinned. “Oh, I think you know why.”

  The meat inched closer to Davie. “No, I do not.”

  “It’s because he’s a fucking psycho just like his old man. I heard the stories about you. About what you did. You think no one reads newspapers anymore? Shit, man, you really did a number on your kid. Phil’s a fucking fruitcake thanks to you.”

  The meat pulsated, its glow getting brighter and more erratic. “You little shit.”

  “Man, that’s the pot calling the kettle black. I’m a little shit? Ha! That’s priceless. So why the hell did you do it? Don’t you even care about your son? Don’t you care what people think of him?”

  “Shithead…” the meat said. It lunged at Davie.

  It was no use. Davie grabbed a handful of tendrils and pulled them to his mouth. Within seconds he was eating them like spaghetti.

  The meat screamed.

  It glowed brighter and tipped itself over onto the floor to escape from Davie but it was too late. Chomp-chomp-chomp. It was mealtime for Davie.

  Once the tendrils were eaten, Davie started on the meat-body, eating Phil’s father one bite at a time while the rest of the families in the room stared in shock. For all they knew, Davie was the meat’s son and they were dealing with “family issues” their own way. Besides, what if they interfered and were sued by the meat? Weirder things have happened.

  So everyone sat by while Davie finished eating Phil’s father. Each glowing piece of meat was chewed, swallowed, and followed by a burp.

  When he was done, Davie sat on the floor and picked his teeth with his fingernails. He finally acknowledged the people around him who were staring at him. “What? Did you want some?”

  People shook their heads but stayed silent.

  Davie said, “Thought so.” He walked out of the room, leaving a trail of neon farts behind him.

  VI.

  Nurse Barbara looked around to see if anyone was watching and then brought her hand to her mouth, faked a cough, and swallowed the pill. It wasn’t that she thought she was doing anything wrong. She was only hiding it because she knew that people would disapprove of it despite her need. Her need for the pills. Her need for the placebos.

  The placebos were able to do anything she wanted them to do. If she felt sluggish and lazy, they acted as amphetamines. If she felt high strung, they acted as an opiate.

  Barb took a quick glance at the bottle. It wasn’t the usual. The unpronounceable medical name was replaced by one simple word: TABORICA. She knew she’d have to ask her doctor next time but she also knew that there wasn’t a goddamn thing she could do about it if he had slipped her something different and potentially harmful. After all, his medical license had been revoked years ago and his imported-from-Mexico pharmaceutical supply kept in his garage was just waiting to be raided by any number of law enforcement agencies. If he was indeed giving her something da
ngerous, Barbara figured she’d just have to take her chances.

  As she sat at her desk, she wondered about Grant Minissi. For a crazy fuck he was pretty good-looking. Barb noticed that the crazies at the hospital were either really attractive or really ugly. There usually weren’t anyone in between. Most of the time, unfortunately, the good-looking ones were also the ones most likely to cut your open and rape the wound. The ugly ones were mostly harmless.

  “Hey,” a voice said from behind her.

  “Yeah?” she said, turning around in her chair. Standing there, nude and glowing, was Davie Jefferson.

  “Look!” he said.

  “Davie, you better put some clothes on. You know that’s inappropriate,” Barb said, feeling the placebo soak her insides with relaxing confidence.

  “I don’t have no clothes, ma’ lady” Davie said. “No clothes at awwww..”

  “Dr. Silverman!” Barbara shouted. She knew she shouldn’t interrupt his talk with Grant but there was something seriously wrong with Davie.

  “No need to call Dr. Silverman,” he said. “I’ll put clothes on right after you tell me what you had for breakfast. Pancakes?”

  “We’re not doing this again, Davie.” She got up from her chair and, without knocking, walked into Dr. Silverman’s office.

  VI.

  Grant was on his knees in front of Dr. Joshua Silverman.

  “What kind of therapy is this again?” Grant said. He was staring directly at the doctor’s giant ankh belt buckle.

  “It’s called Ptham--,” Dr. Silverman started to say but was interrupted by the door opening and Nurse Barbara walking in.

  “Doctor, we have a problem,” she said. “Davie Jefferson is outside and he’s naked. Something’s wrong with him.”

  Grant stood up. “See! I fucking told you.”

  “Watch your language,” Dr. Silverman said. “Barbara, get an orderly to put some clothes on him and then tell him to come into my office.”

  Barbara nodded and left the room.