Parasite

by Patrick Logan

  Seth looked around and realized that although he had been staring at the stage for what felt like an eternity, he hadn’t noticed that pervert’s row had cleared out. He turned completely around and surveyed the entire club. He noticed two other patrons toward the back, both quickly trying to finish their beers with a large black bouncer hovered over them.

  Although he hadn’t seen people leave, he wasn’t surprised that they were gone. No one stuck around too long after the last show of the night.

  “It’s okay, bouncer won’t tell you to leave if I don’t want him to. Let me get you a drink.”

  Seth turned back to Tom. Under other circumstances, he might have thought the man was hitting on him. But not Tom. He was just being friendly, which was something that Seth desperately needed right now. In fact, as strange as it was working here, Seth didn’t even think the man was gay.

  “Can’t pay,” he offered glumly. “John didn’t pay.”

  Tom made him a drink anyway; his favorite, gin and tonic.

  He slid the glass over and Seth grabbed it.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking a sip. It was strong and tart—just the way he liked it.

  Tom said nothing and went back to cleaning the glasses. As Seth continued to drink, he noticed that the place consistently started to brighten, as if someone was very slowly raising the dimmer. Then the music cut out, although it took a few seconds to realize that the ringing in his ears was a side effect and lacked the bass thump of an actual tune.

  Tom passed through the swinging doors behind the bar for a moment, presumably leading to the kitchen, leaving Seth alone with his thoughts.

  You’re lucky I don’t cut you.

  The thing that scared Seth most about the encounter wasn’t so much the prospect of being stabbed or sliced open, although that in and of itself was indeed frightening. It was how he felt about it; somewhere, deep inside his soul, he felt that he deserved it.

  That he deserved to be cut up, to be killed.

  As if eavesdropping on his internal monologue, Tom suddenly reappeared and stopped right in front of Seth.

  “You got anyone to talk to, Seth?”

  Seth looked up at the man and saw genuine concern on his face.

  “No,” he responded simply.

  And it was the truth; Seth hadn’t had anyone to really talk to in a long, long time. Since before—

  He banished the thought with another large sip of his gin and tonic. It was almost empty now.

  “How long have you been coming here?”

  Seth thought about the question for a moment.

  “Five years?”

  Yeah, that sounded about right.

  Still, five years.

  Saying the words out loud made them more real. And they were a shocking revelation.

  Five years was a lifetime.

  He finished his drink, and Tom immediately grabbed his glass even before he could put it down. His first thought was that the man would quickly clean it—it was the last one left, he saw—but instead the man refilled it.

  Maybe he is hitting on me, Seth thought. But why?

  “Five years,” Tom said with an air of incredulity. He turned and flicked on the TV above the bar. The sports highlights were on, but Tom quickly switched it to the news.

  “You gotta to get out of here, Seth... move on,” he said quietly, turning back to Seth.

  Move on to what? To where? I have nothing—I deserve nothing.

  He wanted to lament his woes, but that wasn’t him. He got what he deserved, and what Tom didn’t deserve was to hear about his problems.

  Instead, Seth turned the question on his head.

  “What about you? You were here five years ago, too—you were here before I got here.”

  Tom sighed and made a face, the meaning of which was clear.

  Typical.

  “I’m doing my thing... taking courses during the day. For me, this—” He spread his arms out in front of him. “This place is just temporary.”

  Then he paused, which said more than words to Seth. This pause meant, But for you, I’m not so sure.

  And he was right, of course; this wasn’t temporary for Seth. This, coming here or to any of the other gay bars in the clubs looking for men who would pay a few bucks to get their dicks sucked, was what his life was—probably what it would always be.

  And even at that, it was more than he deserved, he knew. In an absurd way, he was grateful.

  Tom turned his back again, and Seth raised his gaze to the TV, just in time for to see the words ‘Askergan County’ pass from the ticker to off screen.

  His heart skipped a beat.

  Tom grumbled something about not wanting to know about Hickville USA and raised the remote to change it.

  “No! Don’t change it!” Seth’s words came out louder than he expected, but they worked. Tom lowered the remote and peered over his shoulder.

  “What? You want to—”

  “Shhh! Turn it up!”

  Tom made a face, but he obliged.

  There was a pretty blonde on screen, and she was speaking intently to a large black man in a sheriff’s uniform.

  “Now, Sheriff White, can you tell us a little more about what happened here? What happened in Askergan over the last forty-eight hours?”

  But despite his demand to Tom, he realized that he didn’t care about what they were saying.

  There was something else that had drawn, and now kept, his attention.

  Behind the sheriff and the pretty reporter, a house was smoldering, reduced to mere rubble. Several firemen were still trying to put out the remaining small fires.

  “What is this place?” he whispered.

  There was something about it, something that made it impossible to turn away. Something familiar about it, even though he was certain that he hadn’t ever been to the place. In fact, there was only one place in Askergan that he had been—

  And then Seth saw him, and all of his thoughts melted away.

  The camera focused on a man in the distance, moving away from the burning house. He was too far to make out anything distinct, other than the fact that he was thin and covered in soot.

  “This man giving you trouble, Tom?”

  Seth didn’t even acknowledge the bouncer that had come over, likely drawn by his shouts.

  “No,” Tom said hesitantly.

  And then the man on camera turned his head and stared directly into the camera lens. The gaze only lasted a split second before he looked away and then hurried off screen.

  A second, but that was all Seth needed.

  “No,” Seth moaned. He slumped back in his seat, but it was a bar stool and he slipped off the back.

  His body collapsed awkwardly to the dirty bar floor.

  The man on the news report had a beard, and his face was streaked with dirt.

  But it was him, Seth was certain.

  And it made his blood run cold.

  “No,” he moaned again.

  The man on camera had been none other than Jared Lawrence, the man that he had been running from for all these years.

  Come

  39.

  Sheriff Paul White drove so fast that he nearly rammed into a parked firetruck on the corner of Main and Highway 2. He swerved to the right, and then whipped the wheel back to the left to avoid an overturned car at the side of the road. He made a mental note to get Johnny and his tow truck out here to clear the road a little better as soon as possible. Still, despite his near accident, he was surprised that the firemen and volunteers had done such a good job at getting rid of the cracker debris, which he had stressed as a priority.

  Paul tried to push these thoughts, his work, from his mind.

  Nancy, it’s about Nancy.

  He flicked the police lights on and pushed the gas pedal just a little bit harder.

  Relief washed over him when less than fifteen minutes later he pulled up to his place and saw Nancy’s car parked in the driveway. He slammed the cruiser into park and j
umped out, hurrying up the small walk to the door. Despite the sun having already begun to nestle, it was hot out, and he felt his shirt cling to his sweaty chest.

  And it was the stress; that too had made him sweat.

  Paul was shouting even before he opened the door—which was unlocked.

  “Nancy!” he yelled, stepping inside. A blast of cool air from the AC unit hit him. “Nancy! Are you home? Nancy!”

  When there was no answer, the relief he felt after seeing her car quickly dissipated.

  “Nancy!”

  He took a break from shouting and listened, trying to make out any sounds from inside the house.

  His ears perked, and he heard the distinct sound of water running upstairs.

  The sheriff didn’t even bother taking off his boots as he took the stairs two at a time. When he plowed into the bedroom, the water suddenly shut off, and then he heard the shower door open. A second later, Nancy, blonde hair still wet, stepped into the bedroom with a towel tucked up under her breasts.

  She didn’t see him at first.

  “Nancy!”

  Nancy yelped and jumped back.

  “Jesus, Paul, you scared me!”

  Paul didn’t say anything else; instead, he stepped forward and leaned down. Grasping her still shocked face in his hands, he kissed her full on the lips. Startled, she tried to pull away, but he wasn’t done yet. He extended the kiss a little longer, breathing in her fresh, clean scent—a complete one-eighty from earlier in the day.

  But that was in the past, her bullying questions on air forgotten. She was with him now; she was safe.

  And that was all that mattered.

  Paul finally released her, and Nancy immediately stepped backward.

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. Yet despite her expression, her tone was soft.

  “I’m just—I’m just—”

  The sheriff was at a loss for words; he had been so certain that something had happened to Nancy, that she wouldn’t be there after what Dirk had told him, that he hadn’t actually planned what he was going to say if she was there... which, of course, she was.

  Should I tell her? Should I tell her about Dirk?

  Paul let out a deep sigh and decided against it. He tried to convince himself that the only reason that he was keeping it from her was because he didn’t want to worry her, but there was something else, too. He didn’t want her spreading rumors about an evil, cartoon villain on television, putting the already confused Askergan citizens into a frenzy.

  Exhaustion should take hold any moment now, he knew, based on the hell of a day he had been through. But something held it at bay for a little while longer.

  Anxiety.

  Despite finding Nancy safe and sound, he was still anxious about what had happened to Askergan, and about what was going to happen.

  The crackers, however horrible, had only been the beginning, he knew.

  The worst was yet to come.

  “Paul?” Nancy had a concerned expression on her face.

  Fuck it.

  Sheriff White had once heard someone say that rage and ecstasy were very close on the emotional spectrum, even though their implications couldn’t have been more different. At the time, he hadn’t really understood what this meant, but he thought he did now.

  He was anxious, he was tired, but he was also alive.

  Instead of answering, Paul stepped forward and kissed Nancy again. As before, her first instinct was to pull away, but when his probing tongue found hers, she changed her mind and leaned into him. He felt her hands wrap around his waist, and when she moved her arms, her towel fell to the floor. Feeling her bare skin against him only encouraged the sheriff further, and he moved his mouth off hers, kissing first her jaw, and then the nape of her neck when she leaned her head backward. When he kissed her clavicle, she let out a soft gasp.

  He continued down her body, moving slowly, kissing her as he went. He kissed the top of her full breast, breathing in her fresh scent. Then he kissed all the way around her nipple, which stood at attention in the air-conditioned room. His tongue darted, flicking her nipple, and Nancy moaned. Her hands were on the back of his head now, forcing her breast into his mouth.

  Paul worked his way back up to her mouth, leaving wet trails on her damp skin. This time when their lips met again, she kissed him back—and she was hungry. Nancy didn’t even bother with his shirt; instead, she reached down and undid his belt with one hand. A second later, she was inside his pants, grabbing his manhood in her small hand. With her other hand on the small of his back, she guided both of their bodies backward until her bare ass hit the edge of the bed. She gasped and fell backward.

  Paul stared at her for a moment, loving the way her face was twisted in a devious smirk. She was pretty, but she was also one to take charge, and he liked that. For a moment, everything—the crackers, the bikers, and now the Crab—was gone.

  All that was left was him and her.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, the smile still on her face. “You’ve got to finish what you started.”

  And then Paul could not wait any longer. He lowered his buttocks, and with one thrust, he slid effortlessly inside her.

  At last the smile was off Nancy’s face; now it was replaced by an expression of bliss. Her eyelids fluttered and he thrust again. And again. And again. With every thrust, Nancy’s mouth opened a little more, her moans got a little louder. Just as she was nearing her climax, Paul was distracted by a sound off to his left.

  “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Nancy begged, but Paul’s eyes had honed in on the closet door, which was slightly ajar. It was one of those sliding mirror doors, and he could see his tired face in the reflection.

  Tired, so damn tired-looking.

  He felt a pain on his left buttock, as Nancy dug her nails in. He turned back to her and saw that her eyes were open, her thin blonde eyebrows knitted.

  “Don’t stop, I said.”

  He almost smiled.

  “Okay, I—”

  Then he heard the closet door slide all the way open, followed by a man’s voice.

  “Yeah, don’t stop, big boy.”

  40.

  Seth stumbled past the bouncer that held the door wide, and he nearly fell into the alley.

  Tears streaked his face, and his heart was beating so quickly that he thought that it might burst from his chest. It was as if a switch had been turned inside his head—after seeing the face of the man he had spent the last six years trying to wipe from his memory, everything came roaring back.

  Jared Lawrence.

  Because Jared Lawrence reminded him of the sweet little cherub, Henrietta Lawrence.

  The one he had tried to suffocate.

  To murder.

  You ain’t worth nothing, faggot. Just a queer, sucking dick like a woman. That’s all you are—a queer. Ain’t worth nothing.

  And now the floodgates were open, and with these memories came something else.

  The voice.

  The same one that he had heard so long ago on the wind. Only now it was different. Now it wasn’t simply uttering a single command, but a series of coherent instructions. The same ubiquitous ‘come’ was there, of course, but now there was more.

  Come.

  Bring the girl.

  Come.

  Bring the girl, Seth. You have been chosen.

  The words were so clear, so distinctly not his and yet happening inside his head, that it made him queasy.

  “Get help, buddy,” the bouncer said before slamming the door closed. Seth nearly fell as he scrambled toward the dumpster. His right hand slammed against the side hard enough to make it ring, and then he doubled over, retching, unable to even lean over the bin before nausea overcame him.

  His eyes watered with every heave—it was the most violent vomiting he had ever experienced. Up came the two gin and tonics, and the mess that he had swallowed from the john.

  He heaved and heaved until there was nothing
left. When the sensation passed, he forced himself to try and puke again, aware that this time it wasn’t designed to rid himself of some sort of poison, but to get the voice out.

  Gasping, Seth wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand. He waited to see if more would come, and although his stomach ached and his throat burned, the urge to vomit was gone.

  A joke—it wasn’t real. I didn’t hear that.

  But he had heard it.

  Bring the girl. You have been chosen.

  Seth pulled his hand off the dumpster and tried to straighten himself on wobbly legs.

  His heart still raced in his chest, and he suddenly felt a strong desire for another drink.

  Or twenty.

  Everything he had done had been to forget. And he had been successful… kind of. But now, Jared’s face had been a trigger, and the voice had returned.

  Tears streamed from his eyes, and he collapsed to the ground, not caring that he landed in his own vomit. His body was racked with sobs.

  The voice was back, and as before, it gripped him inside his mind.

  Come? Come where?

  Seth started to moan, and buried his head in his lap, pressing his hands against the sides of his head so hard that it hurt.

  “Leave me alone!” he yelled between tears.

  He tried with all his might not to answer—he tried to ignore the voice inside his mind.

  No—please, not again. Leave, like last time... like with Jared’s family. Like after I... after the snow. When I turned and left and walked in the freezing cold until I couldn’t walk anymore.

  The voice had been inside his head then, and it was when he’d finally succumbed to answering that things had taken a turn for the worst.

  Before he’d tried to smother Henrietta.

  After Seth had wandered from Mama Lawrence’s house, he had kept going; he’d kept walking long after he’d stopped hearing that harrowing voice. Eventually, he had hitched a ride, and headed south all the way until he had hit Florida. Florida had been good for a while, and eventually the hot sun had melted the ice that had wrapped his bones. And during this time, he had almost forgotten about the snow.