by Adam Vine
Yeah, because nobody can ever leave, not really, I thought.
Scudds continued, “The bad news is, old Sunny Hill’s exhausted. When a tree gets old, you need to trim the branches back a little, so it can recover, grow back fresh, or the fruit starts goin’ bad.”
“I won’t do it. They’re my friends,” I said.
Scudds hmmmd. “But are they your friends? Are they really your brothers from other mothers, true-blue, loyal to the end? Seems to me, they ain’t even loyal to you now. Seems to me, they don’t even like you all that much. Look up. That’s the man you called your best friend since you were nine, gettin’ knobbed off by the girl you should have lost your virginity to.”
“Shut up,” I said. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” I shut my eyes. If I tried, I could make it all go away. I would open them again and I’d be back under Sunny Hill, my Sunny Hill, sitting in the dark, crying, like I knew some part of me actually was.
“Bet that feels pretty bad,” Scudds said. “Bet that makes you wanna go apeshit and cut all of those backstabbing, false friends into tiny little pieces, like they deserve.”
I blinked through my tears, unable to hold them back. “Shut up. Shut up.”
“Bud, I hate to say this, but they’re going to die either way. You all are.”
Fear welled in my gut. I felt cold, smelled the damp earth lingering. In between sobs, I said, “What?”
“They’re already marked, kid. Everyone who lives here gets marked. Them’s the rules. It might be two years; it might be twenty. But they’re going to die, badly, and so are you. You moved in. It can’t be undone. The Union always wins.”
“Bullshit.”
“Look at that last picture you took if you don’t believe me. It’s still in your pocket.”
I didn’t need to look at the Polaroid in my wallet to know he was right. The ’93 Crew had spent years running from the Union before they all died from their worst fears coming true. The only member of the ’93 Crew who was still alive was Andy.
No, Apple is, too, I remembered.
“So we’re cursed? That’s it? All because we signed some stupid lease?” I said.
Scudds fumed. “No, that’s not it, you idiot. That’s what I’m tryna tell ya! There’s a way to beat the system, to save the day, just like you always dreamed about. In the parlance of your queer little horror films, I’m offering you a way to break the cycle.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes, straightening up. “All right. I’m listening.”
“Make this kill so good, you become the last ones.”
“Ever?”
“Til the buffalo shits.”
I shook my head. “No. Fuck you, you gutter drunk Nazi. I’m not gonna murder my friends. They’re all I have.”
“What’s the downside?” Scudds said. “You’ll get to stay here with them, party for all eternity. And better yet, things get right down here. It’ll be like nothin’ bad ever happened between you. They’ll be exactly the friends you always wanted. Think about it. You'll get to drink, smoke Mary Jane, laze about on your favorite sun deck, bounce on that big trampoline in the orchard you love so much, rage, get hammered, all of you, together, for the rest of time.”
“I don’t… I guess… I mean…”
“We already know you want this, Drew. In the entertainment business, this is what we call a Sure Thing.”
“Is this what They offered you?” I said.
Scudds took a long time to reply. In the silence, I thought maybe he’d gone, until he said, “Yes.”
“And what they offered Andy, too?”
Disgust seeped into Scudds’ voice. “Trust me, you don’t wanna end up like him, like the one who failed.”
I scratched my belly. “So, let me get this straight. If I trim the trees, we’ll all become part of the orchard?” I said cautiously.
I heard the echo of Scudds clapping. “Bingo, Drew-buddy. Bing-fucking-go. That’s all we’re asking you. To trim the trees.”
I looked upstairs as Jay hoisted Bea onto the tile countertop, lifting her skirt up and stepping between her legs. She gasped as he put himself inside her.
“Oh, Jay,” Bea said, biting his shoulder. “Jay, I love you. I love you, Jay.”
Jay stopped thrusting and looked her in the eyes, gently touching her cheek. “This is crazy. But I love you, too, Beatriz.”
I got mad. My back went rigid. I felt strong, empowered by a furious rush of blood. A black hole formed inside me, swallowing all the sadness and pain until it was gone, and only my rage remained. The tears stopped flowing from my eyes, replaced by a beating nimbus of red.
I slowly picked up the shears, testing their weight. They felt light as a feather.
“Trim the trees, Bud,” Scudds said over my shoulder. “Trim the trees.”
***
I stepped out of Scudds’ shack onto the driveway of Sunny Hill. The lights in the kitchen were still on. I was quiet going up the stairs, leaning some of my weight on the back door before turning the knob, so it wouldn’t creak when I opened it. I put the pruning shears down inside the kitchen door. I had to be sure.
Jay was standing by the breakfast bar with his back to me, fixing another drink and quietly singing the lyrics to the Human Beinz’s “Nobody But Me.”
“…Ain’t nobody do it but me, babe!
Well lemme tell ya, nobody
Nobody but me!
Lemme tell ya,
Nobody,
Nobody,
Nobody,
Nobody,
Nobody…”
I took the Polaroid out of my pocket and framed it in my eye line next to Jay’s head. Slowly, quietly, I approached him. The picture showed Jay in the kitchen, making his drink. It was like holding a video recorder up to my face and watching him through the viewfinder. In real life, Jay’s back looked normal, his usual greasy, shoulder-length brown hair tucked into a newsboy cap. In the picture, he had been decapitated.
When I covered his real face with the picture, his headless corpse stood in front of me, in the same place, wearing the same outfit; his voice echoed muffled and gurgling from the open maw of his neck.
“Whoa! Drew. You startled me, man,” he said, turning around. There was a slur in his words and a stutter to his step. He swayed, almost losing his balance. He was piss-drunk. “Hey! Don’t creep up on me like that, man! Man… man. The bars were hella fun tonight. We missed you, man.”
But you didn't wait for me, did you? You guys probably glanced around, maybe checked my room, but you didn't really go out of your way to find me. You just wanted it to be the two of you. Forget thirteen years of friendship, forget the Bro Code, forget the fact I’m in love with her.
Scudds was right, I realized. We weren't breaking away, drifting apart; we were broken. This is what our gang will look like from now on. Our bond has been shattered. From now on, Jay will be over at Bea's, banging her brains out, planning their hippie stoner lives together, Talia and Carter will be drinking Kool-Aid and singing Kum-Bay-Ya, and I’ll be sitting in the basement listening to it all with my dick in my hand. Scudds was right. This was the only way to keep us all together. I have to do it. Jesus, Scudds was right. Scudds was right.
“Man? Whassup? You all right?” Jay said.
“Everything’s fine.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” I slid the Polaroid back in my pocket.
Jay sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Shit. Some guy at the Red Room was tryna fight me. He was hitting on Bea, so I put my arm around her and I was like, what bitch? And he cracked his knuckles, so I picked up a beer bottle to smash him, then like, ten of his friends dragged him away, after they realized I wasn’t playin.'”
“That’s really neat, Jay,” I said.
“Nah, I was just playin’ around. I wouldn’t glass nobody. I'mma big softy. A big boss hawg. Yee yee!”
“Tell me another story, Jay.”
“Uh. Drew, dude. You want a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll have what you’re having,” I said, quietly inching away from him and back toward the door.
“I found some vermouth and those little cocktail olives in your fridge. I’m making you a vokka martini. Vokka,” he repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue. “Vokka. Vokka. Vod-ka. Vodka.”
I left Jay giggling to himself, and returned to the back door to retrieve the tree shears. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would burst. My vision blurred at the edges. The sweat cut hot scores down my forehead. My hands trembled in weak, silent protest.
I have to do it. No, I don’t. That’s what They want me to think, some part of me screamed. They want our memories. They don’t exist. This is all in my head. They’re going to kill me if I fail. Then They’re going to kill my friends, and make us Their slaves forever.
“Jay, where’s Bea?” I said.
Jay didn’t turn around. “Uh… why?”
“Just curious.”
He shrugged. “She’s in Sam’s room. She passed out.”
“Oh. Tubular.”
“Yo, that girl got a booty that ring like a bell. Knowwaddimsayin?” Jay chuckled.
“Of course I do.”
“You creepin' me out tonight, man,” Jay said. He still didn’t see me, or the giant scissors in my hands. “Did you take anything else besides weed?”
“No, Jay. I didn’t.”
“Arright.”
Jay finished pouring the alcohol into the shaker and picked it up, giving it a slow, gentle swirl. I was running out of time. I raised the shears around his neck.
Jay started rambling. “Man, I had this idea when I was at the bars. Like… it was about death.”
I stopped, the rusty twin blades hovering inches from his neck. I can listen to my best friend’s last words. That, at least, I can choose.
“Everyone’s gonna die, someday. We all gotta go sometime. You gotta experience the peace and the light while you can, together. We’re all we have, man. We’re all we have.”
I know exactly what you mean.
Jay finished mixing the martini and poured it into two glasses. He said over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. Just bullshitting. I think, like, way too much when I’m drunk.” I drew a deep breath and slammed the shears shut around Jay’s neck as hard as I could.
***
I was stumbling through a dark labyrinth. The tree shears were still in my hands, but my hands were soaking wet. My clothes were wet, too, and I was shivering. Flashing lights and cobwebs assaulted my tender eyes. The air stank with the pungent reek of damp soil. Somewhere inside the house, a woman screamed.
I was in Sunny Hill, in the hall connecting my and Carter’s bedrooms. All the lights in the house were off. My grip was shaking so violently the beam of my Maglite twirled and flickered like a strobe. I steadied my hand and stepped into Carter’s room. It was silent. Another scream, far off. My thoughts were a thousand broken pieces. I did this. It’s my fault. I had to. The storm has passed. I shined my flashlight beam onto Carter’s bed. It was empty. I stumbled over something and ate shit, falling face-first on the carpet.
When I picked up the flashlight again, I saw Carter lying next to me. He was dead. I’d tripped over his corpse. The whites of his eyes were the first thing that caught the light, then his hands, clenched across his stomach, where I’d cut the guts out of his perfect abs. I did that. I stabbed him to death. He didn’t even try to fight, until it was too late. He was too surprised.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck,” I muttered. Another scream echoed from the living room.
Carter’s final expression was frozen in the deepest disappointment, eyes and mouth agape, as if, even in death, his heart was broken by what I’d done.
I found Natalia’s torso leaned sitting-up against the front door of the house. I’d taken her arms and legs off, and her head, too, making her into a Barbie doll with all the parts removed. Above the stump of her neck, written in her blood on the wood paneling of the door, were the words: They see you.
I’m a monster. I’m worse than my friends always thought. I don’t deserve to live. I finally went too far, pushed myself to the point where I have no other way out. It’s time to put these giant scissors into my own fat guts and finish it.
Another scream. I heard someone say my name. Bea, I realized. Bea was still alive.
***
I followed Bea’s muffled cries to the hallway next to the kitchen. She was crawling on the ground with two rivers of blood spilling from the stumps of her legs, where I’d taken them off at the thigh. “Drew,” Bea croaked. Her face was pale.
She’d gone to see about Jay, and I had taken her legs. Those strong, beautiful legs. Her Million Dollar legs. God, I would have loved to kiss those legs. I ruined her. My beautiful Bea. I gave her to Them. Why, God? Why did I do it? Why did I have to be such an insecure, hateful piece of shit?
“Drew,” she said again, her lungs too weak to make anything but a shallow whisper. I couldn’t save her. There was no time. I tried to scream. But my voice was gone, too.
“Drew.” I was empty. There was nothing inside me but a hole. “Drew. You’re… you’re…” I reached to take Bea’s hands. They were spread out, palms facing up, on the dirty tiles of the floor. When she saw me reaching, she used the last of her strength to retract them.
“I’m what?”
“Co…ward,” Bea said. “Co…ward.”
Tears brimming, I nodded.
“Kill… me. You… co…ward.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t. But I had to. I had killed her in the worst way possible. I had given her the knowledge she was going to die, and the time to think about it.
“Please,” Bea said. “Please… Drew.”
I shook my head. No. It wasn’t me. It was Them. They made me do it.
A sound rumbled in Bea’s throat, like a cough that got stuck. She’s fighting for her last breath, I realized. Numbly, the grips of the shears filled my fists again.
Someone else was standing in the hallway with us. At first, I only saw his shoes, beat up, black leather shoes, rising into pinstriped pants. The single note of an accordion being squeezed whined above my head. “Ya did good, bud,” Scudds Gurney said.
I looked up. He towered over me, smiling. In the mirrors of his teeth I saw my own reflection, pale and sickly; a flabby, Eldritch mass of glasses and greasy hair. My face and clothes were covered in blood. My eyes were black holes to nowhere. I was the monster. I was the lurker. I was the evil thing that lived under Sunny Hill. There was nothing romantic or exhilarating about it. I was a disgusting, twisted, repulsive abomination, all because I’d forsaken my own advice and taken the wrong road.
"Welcome to the Union," Scudds said, grinning, and extended his hand to help me up.
Part 5:
Union
I stumbled backward and fell onto cold concrete. Someone cried out in the darkness, “Hey! Watch it!”
The voice was Andy’s.
I stood up. Scudds was gone. Bea was gone. The shears were gone. My hands and clothes were dry, no longer covered in blood. I was back in the basement under Sunny Hill.
“Hey, kid. Over here.”
I shined my flashlight on Andy. He was lying in the old sleeping bag next to the hole where Bea and I had dug up the pictures. The drawstring of the sleeping bag was fastened tight around Andy’s neck. There was blood on his mouth. The corpses of two fat, white cats, partially eaten, lay in the dirt next to him. Mr. DeLucio’s cats, I realized. Officer Skoakland has been sleeping down here the whole time. He ate the dead cat Carter and I found. And he ate Popeye. But I already knew that, didn’t I?
Andy smiled. In the dimming, flickering beam of my flashlight, his bald scalp and dead-eyed grin looked like a skull wrapped tight in white paper. I didn’t need to ask what he was doing under his sleeping bag.
Andy’s smile fell to a sympathetic frown. “Cheer up, kid. You l
ook like you just shat your soccer shorts.” He saw me staring at the dead cats next to him and said, “Oh. Yeah. Guess that seems kinda gross, doesn’t it? Y’know, though, eating fresh, raw protein is the best way there is to get big gains in the gym. They were gonna get put down, anyway. Scudds used to eat ‘em, too, when he was poor. It’s a time-honored tradition here at old Sunny Hill. I guess you already figured out I ate your friend's shithead dog. Little douchebag came down here and wouldn’t stop scratching at the door. Can't have that, Drew-buddy. And, a man's gotta eat, so..." He grinned, showing a mouthful of bloody teeth, fur, gristle, and all.
“I didn’t want to do it,” I said. I choked on a sob, unable to hold back my tears. “I didn’t want to kill them. They made me. Like They made you.”
“Didn’t want to kill who, you stupid idiot?”
I rubbed the tears from my eyes with balled-up fists, looked around again. There was a noise upstairs – a door opening – someone entering the kitchen. Muffled voices echoed down through the ceiling boards. It was Bea and Jay.
Andy put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhh. If you’re quiet, you can hear them talk.”
My heart pounded in my chest. I heard Jay say: “You want a maintenance drink, babe?”
I didn’t kill them. It was only a bubble. They’re still alive. I didn’t kill my friends. “It wasn’t real,” I said through machine-gun sobs. “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t real.”
Andy nodded. “You can hear everything down here. People talking shit. Partying. Banging. Every goddamned thing. Far out, huh?”
“Oh god,” Bea said above us. “I don think I can drink amynore. Actually… fuggit. Less keep thizz party goin’. Woo!” The jerking motion underneath Andy’s sleeping bag quickened.
“Buddy?” Andy sang my name in a high falsetto. “Drew-buddy? You alive in that fat husk over there? Wha'd They show ya? Don’t leave me hangin'. Did you hack those boneheads to pieces, or what? How’d you do it? Knife? Chainsaw? Oh – I get it – a giant pair of scissors. I bet that was fun.”
I pointed the flashlight beam towards the Hobbit door. The tree shears were still leaning against the wall. The door was closed.
