by J. D. Palmer
I fight to kill.
He cracks knuckles and laughs and then his face morphs into something that he intends to be serious and frightening. The face of man trying to be a fighter. I laugh. I laugh genuinely, hands relaxed at my sides. It must look psychotic. Deranged. God, but this is pathetic.
My smile fades as my eyes find Steven. He doesn’t look afraid for me. He looks confused, and sad. The face of a man who doesn’t recognize his closest friend. For a moment I forget about the fight and wonder how much I have slipped into madness.
“Can’t wait to show your girl what a real man looks like.” My attention is brought back to the man in front of me. He grabs his crotch. “She’s probably been so scared that you and them Asians all that’s left in the world.” Even the Asian members of the crowd howl with approval. He brings his fists up, mimes some punches, huge fists cutting through the air. “Soon as I get done with you I’ll take her some dinner. Real romantic-like.” He pumps his groin in the air. The men laugh and animal anger wells up in me. I know I’m growling under my breath. Shoulders hunched. I stalk the edge of the circle.
The crowd yells for my blood and Theo steps forward to oblige. He takes jabs at me. Damn him he is quick. But I duck and slip away each time. They call me a coward. They call me a pussy. They call me whatever names come to mind.
Theo is colossal. A force that cannot be avoided for long. And that’s what they expect me to do, shy away from his muscled bulk and try for a haymaker. A wild hit that hopefully connects with his temple or jaw and dazes him enough for me to capitalize. That’s all the hope a rational man would have. I don’t look like a fighter. Mainly because I’m not.
I’m an animal.
I throw a jab and hit him next to the eye and slip away before he can catch me. It does no damage except to make him angry. Good. He rushes me, arms wide, prepared to take a hit knowing that as soon as he has me on the ground I am finished. I flow around him, twisting and pushing and leaping to the other side of the circle.
“C’mon you pussy.” He is tired of toying around now, intent on ending the fight quickly. I slide to the side, as if I’m going to keep avoiding him. He barrels towards me, arms wide to catch me. This time I have no intention of dodging. I leap forward to embrace him, catching him off guard. We spin in a slow circle, legs churning and slipping on the floor. He has both arms around me, a crushing embrace. I have one arm around his back and my hand finds the back of his head.
Time to let him see madness up close.
I smash my forehead into his nose. Again. And again. He tries to rear back and my forehead finds teeth. I’m taking as much damage as he is. My head is woozy. My nose streams blood. This is where someone else would stop. This is where he would stop. I smile and smash my head into his again. And again. He releases me and tries to push away. I follow viper-quick. I climb on top of him and use the flat of my hand to smash his nose. Crimson streams down his face from his nose and mouth and he lets out a gasp, spraying my face with a mist of our mixed blood as he struggles to breathe through the flood of red. Wild eyes briefly meet mine and I feel no empathy. I go to hit him again and hands grab me, drag me away. I am howling, lashing out where I can, inviting more violence.
Eventually I’m pinned and my strength pools out of me. The roar of voices slowly turns into individual sentences that I can understand. The press of flesh around me now arms and legs of people I can see. Steven is one of the men holding me. God, he looks frightened.
Of me? Is he scared of me?
Don is kneeling over Theo, a crowd looming over his shoulder.
“Let me go,” my voice rasps. They do. They fall back, none looking me in the eye as I climb to my feet. Blood patters the ground at my feet as I stand. I sway for a second, almost falling. I close my eyes and imagine that roots have sprouted from my feet to anchor me to the ground. I hope they hold. My face hurts.
Don stands and looks at me. He is furious. “That wasn’t necessary.”
I spit blood at him. “Fuck you. I didn’t start it.”
“You were trying to kill him. We all saw it.” He waves his hands around and men nod. Manipulative bastard. He wants me removed and he doesn’t care if it’s at the hands of one man or a mob.
“I think it was a good fight.” I’ll play the game. You want to create a tribe of savages that worship strength and blood, so be it. You want to pretend at honor, well, two can play that game.
Theo is crying. Arms held up around his riven face cover the tears but not the shaking of his shoulders. I look around. Theo has been embarrassed. Which means they are embarrassed. I am an outsider who shamed one of them.
Fuck. I thought about fighting him again. Redemption in my own eyes. I didn’t think about what would happen if I won. Don is shouting for silence. If that man gets a chance to speak then I am dead.
I shoulder my way through the crowd of men. Men who if I don’t play this right will take me outside and lynch me. I kneel in front of Theo. His eyes are darting around at all of the faces, they see me and he quails in fear. His nose gushes blood and his mouth and lips are a swollen mass. I hold out an arm. “What a fight! You are a warrior worth knowing.”
Fucking drama. The words mean nothing, I’d as soon piss on this man. Like he did to me. And the desire to shame him is almost overwhelming. But it’s my only way out of here in one piece. He slowly sees what I’m doing. His arm comes up and we clasp forearms. I do not look around me. “Come on.” I haul Theo to his feet, a feat similar to uprooting a tree.
“Let’s get to the doctor. Fix that nose up.” I start walking. At first Theo balks, looking around at the others. He is as confused as they are. Why am I doing this? Why am I helping him? Steven swoops in and loops an arm around Theo from the other side.
“Yo, you bleeding everywhere, let’s go.” Thank you. Theo grunts and we start moving. As we walk out of the door I hear the crowd start to talk, to whisper, to exclaim over the fight. I glance back and see Don watching. If we weren’t enemies before, we are now.
We stumble into the office that the doctor uses. He has a bottle of wine and is studying some papers. He curses us out as he pulls on latex gloves and brings forth a small medical kit. He cleans and disinfects the cuts first and I send Steven back to the club house to get a bottle of whiskey. When he returns I shove it at Theo. “Drink.” He obeys. The doctor sets his nose and he collapses back onto the bench, one large arm covering eyes that drip tears of pain. He was shamed at being defeated by me and now he is further shamed by this display of pain and terror.
Good.
The doctor patches me up and tells me to stay with Theo. I’m not supposed to let him sleep in case he has a concussion. I ask him what happens if I have a concussion. All he says is “good” before he leaves.
John and Steven swing by and sit with me for a bit. Steven had put a plate of food together for Beryl. He leaves and comes back shortly after. I guess Beryl is still being short with the brothers.
Wing comes by and sits with us. He looks at me with something like worship. He tries to be diplomatic since Theo is in the room, but he can’t stop talking about the fight. He tells me that I’m scary. He says that when he gets in a fight he’s going to head-butt the person first thing. If this bothers Theo we can’t tell. The giant sits with his back to us, a hand held to his nose.
There is a knock on the door. I share confused glances with the brothers. Who would be visiting? Steven goes to the door. Beryl stands in the shadows outside. She slowly steps into the now crowded room. Her face is impassive, her eyes take in the other men, bloodied and not, before turning to me. She shakes her head. I can’t help but smile. “Worried about me?”
She rolls her eyes and goes and sits by John. Wing has his mouth open. “Eres la chica.”
She looks at him, confused, and I don’t think he knew he wasn’t speaking English. “I wasn’t around when you came in. I didn’t even know if you were real. But you are.” He sounds like an idiot and he knows it. He clamps his mouth shut.
Theo has turned around to watch her entrance. His eyes scan her body. I tense, waiting for him to say one word, just one wrong word… And I will finish him. I know that Beryl is no longer as fragile as she once was. Hell, she’s stronger than I am. But she’s gone through enough.
Theo slowly stands up. Beryl takes him in, her eyes hard. She knows me. She knows why we fought. She has heard the shouts from the men outside. This is the face of the enemy.
“My name is Theo.” It comes out as a nasally whisper. He can’t meet her eyes. He shuffles his feet, turns to me. “You tell her what I said?” He is embarrassed.
I laugh. In a group these men are dangerous. Two minutes alone and Beryl has turned Theo and Wing into awkward children.
“I didn’t tell her anything about you.” That makes him flinch. He looks up at Beryl, waiting for her to ask what he said. Her silence is now a weapon, her steady stare offering no escape. The quiet stretches and eventually Theo mutters, “I’m sorry.” I do not know for what he is apologizing. Maybe the weight of her gaze simply inspires remorse. They hungered for so long, fantasized about her to such extremes that they forgot what power some women have.
Beryl walks to me. I feel her eyes roam over my injuries. My knuckles are swollen and drip blood. Gashes line my face. Theo is in worse shape. We both sit hunched, bodies taxed to their limit in a inane act of violence. And it won’t end. I avoided a lynching tonight but it is only a matter of time before Theo seeks retribution. There is no law here to stop the cycle of blood until one of us is dead.
“Tell them.”
Beryl is staring at me. The brothers have been startled by the sound of her voice. They look from her to me and back, seeking answers.
“You talked.” John says it almost as a question, as if he doubts that he truly heard something.
My eyes haven’t left Beryl’s. “Tell them what?” She looks away from me and grimaces, eyes closing as she pulls the words from the sticky pit in which they hide.
“Tell them… about Stuart.”
“No.” I say it without thinking. I look at her, confused. Why would she want that? Why would she want to dredge that up in front of them? She leans down next to me and holds up one of my bloody hands. She doesn’t say anything more.
Why would she… I think about last night. The small catharsis sharing brought me. The first words she had spoken. And now, blood on my hands and violence in my soul. Blood begets blood begets death. She wants to end it, scourge the blackness from our hearts and rid ourselves of the demon that dominates our subconscious. Even if it means dragging the monster out to lacerate our souls one last time.
I look at her and give a nod. Dammit but she has a strength, a will in her that I cannot match.
I look around the room. The faces of friends and enemies and strangers, the last of the world. “Give me the whiskey.” I take a pull and hand it to Beryl. And I tell them.
Every last detail.
I tell them about waking up in the room with Beryl. I tell them about Stuart’s nightly rituals and the times he would take me outside. I tell them about the collars. I tell them about the dresses he made Beryl wear before he raped her. I tell them about Jessica and my child. I leave nothing out. Putting the events to words doesn’t help me, doesn’t lessen the horror. But it cements it as the past. Maybe that’s all I can hope for.
When it is all done I am very drunk and very tired. No one says a word. Then Theo stands and walks out of the room. I don’t know where he is going. I look around the group and give a small chuckle that contains no warmth. I laugh because I don’t know what else to do.
“We’re fucked up. But we’re going to be okay. Now will you all leave so I can go to sleep?"
Wing punches my shoulder and the brothers make their peace with Beryl. They leave and I rest my head back against the wall. I’m too tired to change out of my dirty clothes. Hell, I’m too tired to lie down and sleep properly. Beryl slowly settles in next to me and puts her head on my shoulder. We sit like that for what seems like a long time, the echo of the story I just told still ringing in our ears.
I wake up hours later. It’s a dark blue outside, the sun slowly rising over a cold desert. My arm is tight around Beryl’s shoulder and we lean on one another. Her breathing is slow, small puffs of warm breath on my cheek as she is able to sleep soundly while touching another human being for the first time in years.
Chapter 20
Wing comes and gets me as I’m digging outside. He says Jimmy wants me. I can tell he is worried, he probably thinks that I’m going to get kicked out for last night’s altercation. We walk back across the grass toward Jimmy’s office and he rambles on about how unfair it is for them to want me to leave just for defending Beryl. “She is so cool, too.” I ask him why he thinks that and he blushes and mutters a disjointed sentence about the way she stared Theo down.
Jimmy dismisses Wing who puts up a small argument before leaving the office. I think the kid sees himself as my bodyguard. Jimmy gives me a look after the door closes. “You have a fan.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
Jimmy takes off his glasses and rubs eyes that haven’t seen sleep in days. “You and Theo.” I nod. “Don told me what happened.” He holds up a hand before I can speak. “Don’t worry, I am aware of his particular bias towards you.”
He sighs heavily. “My family had horses growing up. We’d breed them, train them, and sell them.” He gives me a look as if wondering if maybe he shouldn’t tell this story. He probably hasn’t talked about his past in a long time.
Okay.
I sit down. In a lot of ways Jimmy reminds me of my dad. A thorough man who'd never get to the point right away. He’d describe what he knows or what he has been told and talks about memories and does everything he can to get you on the same page before he’ll tell you what he wants.
“We had this stallion that was just magnificent. Beautiful. People paid top dollar to bring in their broodmare. By the hour. It was ridiculous what people paid.” He rubs his chin, pausing as he reflects on a bygone time. “The horse’s name was Ghengis. My dad’s joke about the prolificness he shared with the general. Anyways, Ghengis was great with people. Anyone could ride him, he’d come let people touch him. Real easy going guy.”
He turns to me. “But he was a terror to the other horses. Couldn’t stand any of ‘em getting more attention. He’d kick. Bite. Couldn’t leave him alone out in the pasture.”
My turn to sigh. “You saying I’m like Ghengis?”
“No. Not at all. I’m saying that eventually we had to get rid of Ghengis for the good of the herd.” He gives me a hard look. “You don’t like people. You don’t trust them. I get it. But if you don’t make some kind of effort…”
They’ll get rid of me. I know he is just trying to play peacemaker so I nod.
He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of scotch. He pours a shot for me and a large glass for himself and takes a big swig. He turns his back to me and walks to the window and inhales deeply through his nose. Something is different. I realize that he is close to crying.
“Evelyn is going to die soon.”
Barely a whisper but every syllable is engraved in the air. I have no idea what to do or say. Maybe before this all happened I would have been able to mumble words of dismay, maybe go so far as to pat his shoulder. Shit, I might have given him a hug. Now I can’t bear to intrude on his grief with anything disingenuous.
“I’m sorry.”
He nods, takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. “It’s hard not feeling ‘chosen.’ Do you know what I mean?”
In that moment he sounds so like Stuart that I almost stop breathing. He keeps going.
“Everyone dying around you and somehow you live. Easy to think that maybe you were meant for something. I thought I survived because I could rebuild the world. That I was supposed to rebuild the world. I could provide light, and shelter, and… structure. A way to preserve civilization.” Tears start to track down his c
heeks. “And I can’t keep my little girl alive.”
He presses his fingers to his eyes in an attempt to stem the flood of tears. His back heaves as he suppresses his grief, just enough escaping the levee that he can avoid a total collapse. Slowly he gathers himself, taking another gulp from his glass.
“Wong has known for awhile. That… fucker.”
He swears softly, hesitantly, and if I’m any judge of character I’d guess that was the first time in a long time.
“He didn’t tell me. I went through his notes. I… As soon as she leaves that room...” He laughs a bitter laugh. “She has Type A blood. That’s the only thing.” He turns to me. “You and I, we are only alive because we have AB blood. Everyone here does. It’s immune.”
I am shocked. I guess a small part of me thought that we were special too. I know I’m cynical. Jaded. A pragmatist. But I still find myself falling into that pit where I believe in some sort of destiny. A fate in which we are all more than pawns moving around on an empty chessboard. And once again the part of me that says everything is pointless nods his smug little head.
“I’d like to show you something.” Jimmy gulps the rest of his scotch and I take a gulp of mine as well. We walk down the hall and he pauses outside the door to his bedroom. He holds up a finger to his lips and slowly pushes the door open. Beryl sits on a stool in front of the panic room screen. Evelyn’s face is large on the monitor as she watches Beryl closely. Beryl is plaiting her hair in a braid that grabs the hair and twines it across her brow and down the left side of her head.
“Can we do makeup today, too?” Beryl nods and Evelyn laughs. “I’m not supposed to. My dad told me I had to wait until I was thirteen before I could wear makeup but I don’t care.” She keeps talking, mirroring Beryl as they braid hair together.
“Do you like boys?” Beryl hesitates before giving a small smile and nod. “I like boys. There is this one, Jeremy, I like him a lot.” She talks as if Jeremy is still alive and I wonder what Jimmy has told her about the world outside of this building.
